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The miracle of sunrise over Lake Tahoe.— Page 130 , 
















THOSE 

THORNTON GIRLS 


By 

MARY ETHEL OLIVER 

" 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
ELIZABETH WITHINGTON 

i 




BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 











Copyright, 1930, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 


All Rights Reserved 


Those Thornton Girls 



< 


Printed in U. S. A. 


SEP 1!> IH30' 

©CU 27597'. ^ 





Gratefully dedicated 
to my 

FATHER and MOTHER 











* 








CONTENTS 


I. 

“Those Talented 
Girls ” 

Thornton 

• • • 

page 

11 

II. 

The Sleigh-Ride . 

• 

• • 

20 

III. 

Aunt Dorothy 

• 


29 

IV. 

Memories 

• 


40 

V. 

Cristel’s Journal 

• 


50 

VI. 

Lookout Trail 

• 


56 

VII. 

Fay’s Secret 

• 


68 

VIII. 

Chinatown After Dark 


80 

IX. 

Dreams . 

• 


92 

X. 

Concerning a Letter 

. 


100 

XI. 

The Little Rebel 

• 


107 

XII. 

Vacation 

• 


117 

XIII. 

The Camp at Lake Tahoe 


126 

XIV. 

A Mysterious Visitor 

• 


134 

XV. 

Mr. Lynn Keeps Up His Reputa¬ 
tion ...... 

143 

XVI. 

Home Again . 

• 


150 

XVII. 

Rillee’s Circus 

• 


158 

XVIII. 

On the Threshold 

• 


166 


7 




8 


CONTENTS 


XIX. 

Mystery 

• 

• 

. 176 

XX. 

Fay’s Triumph 

• 

• 

. 185 

XXI. 

A Genius in the Family 

• 

. 197 

XXII. 

The Cabin Across the 

Divide 

. 206 

XXIII. 

The Mystery Solved 

• 

• 

. 218 

XXIV. 

Of Many Things . 

• 

• 

. 226 

XXV. 

Fay Decides . 

• 

• 

. 238 

XXVI. 

Bon Voyage . 

• 

• 

. 247 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The miracle of sunrise over Lake Tahoe 

(Page 130). Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

“ I really ought to be taking lessons ” . 92 

Cristel and Dorothy gleefully read the big sign 162 
Then Gordon Blake had stolen Aucar’s letter! 212 


9 




THOSE 

THORNTON GIRLS 

CHAPTER I 

“ THOSE TALENTED THORNTON GIRLS ” 

Cristel stepped out of the Naylor Grocery 
just in time to hear her name spoken. “ All 
the Thornton girls are talented,—all except 
Cristel. She’s just a plain little home-body.” 

A slight feeling of annoyance crept over her 
as she hurried out of earshot, but finally she 
laughed softly. “ I’ve heard that so often that 
I ought to be getting used to it, but I can’t 
seem to.” 

In a small mountain town where all the girls 
did a certain amount of housework, it was no 
particular compliment to be called “ a plain lit¬ 
tle home-body.” At least Cristel did not think 
so. However, she did not nurse her resentment 
long; there was something more important on 
her mind just now. She loitered along absent- 

11 



12 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


mindedly, enjoying the crunching of snow un¬ 
der foot, while she fingered the thick letter she 
had just brought from the post-office. At her 
own gate she stopped and stood gazing lov¬ 
ingly up at the big, brown-shingled house with 
its gables and porches, snow-topped. The spa¬ 
cious lawn about it was now an expanse of 
white, rendered all the more dazzling by the 
bordering pine groves. Cristel glanced toward 
an up-stairs room. 

“ Two more days, and that room will be 
occupied again,” she sighed. “ I just know the 
old brown house will never be the same.” 

She walked up the path, still ruminating dis¬ 
mally. Why had “ Nurse Anne ” taken it into 
her head to go back to Europe? She had been 
much more than a nurse to the children ever 
since they could remember, for they had only 
a faint recollection of their own sweet mother. 

" Why do we need Aunt Dorothy? ” Cris¬ 
tel wondered, when she later glanced in at the 
room awaiting that personage. “ I’m sixteen, 
and perfectly capable of looking after the 
house and two younger sisters. Norah is still 
with us, too. I can’t see why Dad insists that 


“THOSE TALENTED THORNTONS ” 13 


any one else is necessary.” Much as she felt 
it her duty to love this sister of her father’s, 
she shared the fears of the younger girls, that 
life in the old home would not be the same with 
a maiden aunt who had no use for men, and 
undoubtedly had very decided opinions anent 
the bringing up of the younger generation. 

“ Fussy as frills, too, I suppose,” Cristel 
fretted, running her hand over the already 
faultless counterpane. The strains of a lovely 
violin adagio floated up to her from the room 
below. Billee and Fay were practising for the 
Washington’s Birthday program in which Fay 
was to play. Strangely enough, boisterous 
Billee was content to sit hour after hour, prac¬ 
tising accompaniments for her talented sister. 

The Thorntons were proud of thirteen-year- 
old Fay. She had been studying five years 
now, and was playing concertos and other dif¬ 
ficult selections such as one heard in great con¬ 
certs. The music stopped, and quiet reigned 
for a few moments. 

“ I wonder how Fay and Aunt Dorothy are 
going to get along,” Cristel mused as she hur¬ 
ried down-stairs and entered the living-room. 


14 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


Billee had gone, and Fay was already curled 
up on the couch, with a kitten and a book. 
Fay was the beauty of the family, with her 
doll-like features and thick mop of golden 
curls. Cristel ran her hand over her own 
reddish locks, compared Fay’s pink-and-white 
face with her freckled one, and decided that if 
Aunt Dorothy were susceptible to appear¬ 
ances, Fay would have the advantage. 

“ Hello, Cris,” called the little sister, glanc¬ 
ing up. “ You look as though you had just 
come from a funeral. What’s the matter? ” 

“ Nothing. I was just wondering why my 
hair is so straight, and yours so very curly.” 

“ Seems to me you’re always wondering 
that,” Fay yawned over the kitten’s head. 
“ Father tells me I’m vain, but I think you’re 
the vain one of the family—always wishing for 
curls, or apple-blossom cheeks, or something 
else you haven’t got.” 

Cristel laughed. “ Heartless wretch! You 
don’t appreciate your blessings,—talent, and 
curly hair, and all the pretty things an adoring 
family can shower upon you. I wonder if 
you’ll ever know what it is to want something 



“THOSE TALENTED THORNTONS” 15 

that you can’t have. Wait till Aunt Dorothy 
comes.” 

“ I don’t have to wait until Aunt Dorothy 
comes,” Fay answered solemnly. “ I’ve known 
for a long time what it means to want some¬ 
thing I can’t have.” 

Cristel sat down beside her. “ Really, Fay? 
You sound just as though you were ready to 
cry. What can you possibly want as much 
as that? ” 

Fay shook her head. “ I can’t tell you now, 
but maybe I will, sometime.” 

“ Can’t I help the tiniest bit? ” 

“ No.” 

Cristel sat back and looked at the pretty 
face in its frame of soft curls. Fay was ador¬ 
able in spite of all her moods and outbursts. 
It was hard not to spoil her. Every one did, 
in fact, and yet there was something she wanted 
so much that to think of it brought tears to her 
eyes. Her clothes were pretty enough. The 
whole family would willingly sacrifice them¬ 
selves to see that the little swan was properly 
decked; she had books and toys, friends. What 
could it be that she lacked? 


16 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

“ Is it something I could get for you? ” Cris- 
tel hazarded. 

“ No, no. Don’t talk about it now. I’ll tell 
you sometime, maybe.” 

At this moment Billee dashed in with her 
usual tempestuousness, waving a paper over 
her head. “ Here ’tis. I found it!” She 
stopped at sight of Cristel. An inquiry flashed 
from her eyes to Fay’s, and Cristel saw the 
signal for silence. Billee placed the paper un¬ 
der a pile of books with an obvious attempt at 
nonchalance, and immediately began to chatter 
about the geography lesson for to-morrow. 
Cristel tried to comfort herself with the reflec¬ 
tion that Fay had promised to tell her some¬ 
time, “maybe,” and changed the subject. 

“ Have you finished your gifts for Aunt 
Dorothy? ” she asked. “ She’ll be here very 
soon, you know.” 

Billee rumpled her boyish brown crop un¬ 
easily. “ I think I’ll call mine finished,” she 
said. “ Boudoir caps are awfully hard to shape, 
and I hate crocheting, anyhow. But if I leave 
it the way it is now, it will be perfect for a 
table mat. There’s quite a hump in the middle, 


w THOSE TALENTED THORNTONS ” 17 

but Auntie can put a vase or something on it, 
and flatten it out.” 

“ That’s probably just what she will need 
for her round table, Billee,” Cristel agreed dip¬ 
lomatically. “ I suppose yours is done up in 
pink tissue-paper and satin ribbon already, 
Fay?” 

One of the things of which Fay was im¬ 
mensely proud was her ability to “ pretty up ” 
everything about her. She was not meticu¬ 
lously neat—(who could be, with harum- 
scarum Billee for a room-mate?)—but she 
managed to give everything with which she 
came in contact, a touch of daintiness quite in 
keeping with herself. She smiled with naive 
pleasure at Cristel’s remark. 

“ I used blue paper and ribbon, this time. 
I’m giving her some stationery, because Daddy 
says she writes lots of letters.” 

Cristel tweaked her ear. “ You are more 
thoughtful than we sometimes give you credit 
for, aren’t you? Do you think you are going 
to like our aunt? ” 

“ No,” Fay replied, without the least hesita¬ 
tion. “ How can we like an old maid who has 




18 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


all her hair cut off, and who doesn’t like men 
or cows? ” 

Startling as this description was, it was 
akin to Cristel’s own visualization of their un¬ 
seen relative. Dorothy, their father had told 
them, was an unmarried sister of his, whom he 
had not seen for years. He had been very fond 
of her, but they had become a little estranged 
since Dorothy, with her usual determination, 
had left their New England home, entered a 
large eastern publishing house, and worked her 
way up to a literary agency of her own. Mar¬ 
tin Thornton admired his sister’s capability, 
but he would have preferred to see her exercise 
it in some other capacity. Business life hard¬ 
ened a woman, he contended, and made her 
unfeminine. He hoped that none of his daugh¬ 
ters would wish to follow “ careers.”—But 
when Dorothy wrote that her efficient partner 
had made it possible for her to take a year’s 
leave of absence from the office, Martin Thorn¬ 
ton immediately replied with an urgent plea 
that she come to Lakrest and fill the breach 
left by the children’s old nurse, Mrs. Clement. 
Evidently Dorothy was interested in the nieces 


“ THOSE TALENTED THORNTONS ” 19 


that she had never seen, for she acceded readily 
to the plan. 

“ Daddy says that she was always very or¬ 
derly and punctual,” Cristel announced, “ and 
she must be more so, now that she’s been a 
business woman for so long. There’s a long 
letter from her to-day. It sounds friendly 
enough, but I dread her coming, just the 
same.—Billee, you’ll have to be careful about 
your shoes, and leaving tennis racquets and 
things in the front hall.” 

Billee groaned. “ I don’t suppose she’ll ap¬ 
prove of anything I do,” she ruminated with 
such an air of tragedy that it was comical. No¬ 
body ever took Billee seriously, in spite of her 
eleven years. It was really quite annoying at 
times. 

“ Well, we have two more days of freedom,” 
ended Fay. “ Let’s talk about the sleigh-ride.” 

The other two brightened at this suggestion, 
and the bogey of Aunt Dorothy was forgotten 
in an animated discussion of plans for the 


morrow. 


CHAPTER II 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE 

“ Is everybody settled? ” 

“ Jenny, you’d better put on your scarf, it’s 
going to be cold.” 

“ Billee Thornton, you almost sat on the 
marshmallow cake.” 

“ Isn’t this a dandy big sleigh? ” 

“ Stop poking straw in my face.” 

Both Lakrest schools were represented in 
the merry party which was about to start on a 
sleigh-ride over winding mountain roads that 
had once been pioneer trails. A chaos of voices 
broke into a sudden shout, and they were off, 
the quivering bells gradually settling into a 
rhythmic jingle. 

It was not long before they left the houses 
of the town behind and glided merrily along 
through pine woods. What a day it was! Sun 
shining through fragrant boughs and gleaming 
on diamond-crusted drifts, air sparkling with 
frost jewels, a cloudless, deep-blue sky! 

20 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE 


21 


“ Isn’t it heavenly, Cris? ” exulted Fay. 
“ Look how blue the lake looks against the 
snow. Wouldn’t it be great if we could go all 
the way to Lake Tahoe? Does it get frozen 
all over? Think of the grand skating, if it 
did! ” 

“ Isn’t Pine Lake big enough for you? ” 
queried Benny Ludlow. “ You’re just as bad 
as Billee. She wants the whole court whenever 
she plays tennis.” 

“ If you’d do a little more traveling yourself, 
you wouldn’t have to be beaten by a girl!” 
came from Benny’s unsympathetic sister. 

“ Billee, don’t lean out so far, you’ll fall. 
What on earth do you want a snowball for? ” 

“ It’s not a snowball. I just want to show 
Mabel how to make a little snow man.” 

They sped on, laughing, talking, singing,— 
unmindful of the fact that along this very road, 
a band of pioneers once toiled, resting now and 
then, only to struggle against starvation and 
the lonely wilderness until the prayed-for 
rescue came. Not all unmindful, though, for 
Cristel never passed over this road, lovely as 
it was, without growing pensive at the tragedy 


22 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


of it. The sighing pines seemed to whisper 
the story, the ice-locked lake, to hold the secret 
in its bosom. But now its shores echoed to 
jingling sleigh-bells and children’s laughter. 
The bright day was not conducive to tragic 
reflections, however, and when a lusty young 
voice rang out in the school song, Cristel put 
aside her sombre thoughts and joined heartily 
with the rest. They reached the lodge at last, 
and came to a halt in a flurry of bells and 
flying snow. 

“ I’m stiff!” Benny groaned, jumping out 
lamely. This condition did not last long, for 
he was shortly sprinting toward the ice at 
break-neck speed. 

“ Careful! The ice may be too thin! ” called 
Mr. Sutherland, a young man of twenty-four, 
who bore the title of “ principal ” with inward 
amusement, but with a grave consideration for 
the responsibility involved. “ Miss Steffens,” 
he went on, “ will you and the girls look after 
the food, while the boys and I see what sort 
of firewood we can scrape up? ” 

“ It bears! It bears! See! ” Benny shouted, 
executing high jumps all over the most dan- 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE 2S 

gerous parts of the ice. “ Can we skate, Mr. 
Sutherland? ” 

“ If you don’t crack the ice all to pieces be¬ 
fore we get a chance,” the principal laughed. 
“ Look out, young man. You’ll go through.” 

However, Benny’s rather too optimistic test 
of the ice proved its strength, and so as soon as 
the edibles were set away in the lodge, and the 
fire started in the big fireplace, the young peo¬ 
ple flocked out on the lake, to skate and frolic 
until hunger should tempt them away. 

“ Don’t you skate? ” Mr. Sutherland smiled, 
gliding up to Cristel, who stood on the bank, 
watching. 

“ Yes, but Fay lost one of her skates, so I 
let her take mine for a while. I’ll have my turn 
when she’s finished.” 

The young man looked out over the crowd 
of rosy-cheeked fun-makers and glimpsed Fay 
skimming along like a graceful little bird. 

“ She knows how to skate, doesn’t she? ” he 
remarked admiringly. 

“ Fay knows how to do almost anything,” 
Cristel beamed. “ We’re so proud of her! ” 

“ And there’s Billee,” he added, his eyes fpl- 


24 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


lowing another figure, engaged in a terrific 
game of hockey with Mabel and Benny. “ Do 
you girls always give Fay first turn? ” 

“ Almost always. You see, she’s the artist 
of the family.” 

Cristel’s voice was almost maternal, but 
Franklin Sutherland restrained his desire to 
smile, and nodded gravely. “ Of course.” 

“ Cris, play slide with me? ” interrupted 
Gertrude Naylor. “ You take three steps and 
slide, and we see who can slide the farther.” 

Miss Steffens approached to speak to the 
principal, and Cristel obligingly joined Ger¬ 
trude to “ see who could slide the farther.” 

“ Interesting girls, don’t you think, the 
Thorntons? ” Miss Steffens smiled. 

“ Very,—Cristel, especially.” 

“ Cristel? I find Billee much more enter¬ 
taining, and Fay is a darling.” 

“ Billee is amusing, and Fay is such a dar¬ 
ling that she is going to be sadly spoiled, un¬ 
less her innate fineness comes to the rescue. 
But there is something very worth while about 
Cristel, too.—Shall we skate? ” 

The two teachers crossed hands and drifted 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE 


25 


leisurely over the ice. Fay swooped past them, 
and turned around her sister in a graceful fig¬ 
ure eight. 

“ Don’t you think they’re beginning to like 
each other quite much? ” she stopped to inquire 
earnestly. “ Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could 
have another wedding like Miss Dalton’s, last 
year? ” 

“ Looking forward to being a pretty flower 
girl again, Peacock? ” Cristel laughed. “ Well, 
I shouldn’t plan on it if I were you, Fay, be¬ 
cause I’m quite sure that Miss Steffens is en¬ 
gaged to a man in Honolulu.” 

At this moment, Billee rushed up and sat 
down rather precipitately at her sister’s feet. 
“ Did that on purpose,” she explained serenely, 
—pulling off her skates. “ Want to borrow 
these, Cris? I’m tired.” 

“ She would rather have her own skates,” in¬ 
terjected Fay, bending to unfasten the straps. 

“ Then you take mine,” insisted Billee. “ I 
don’t want to skate any more. We had a ’naw- 
ful strenuous hockey. Our side won, with only 
me on it.” 

Cristel had her turn. There were few things 



26 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


that she liked better than to skim over the ice 
in swift, flying strokes, or in a long, graceful 
glide, while figures flitted past on either side. 
At such times she pitied the people who lived 
in the valleys and in the cities along the coast. 
Wonderful their life must be, down there 
among palms and blossoms, and in the brightly 
lighted cities,—but how much they missed! 
She did not stop until Edgar’s Scout bugle 
called them all to supper in the lodge. 

It was a happy, hungry crowd that assem¬ 
bled about the roaring fire, plates piled with 
sandwiches in one hand, a tin cup of creamy 
coffee in the other. 

“ M-m-m, life is just perfect, now,” sighed 
Benny Ludlow, starting on his second chicken 
sandwich. 

“Aren’t these pickles crisp?” 

“ Wherever did you find such a big box of 
potato chips? Are they from your father’s 
grocery, Jenny Naylor? ” 

The little flaxen-haired Naylor girls piped 
up, “ Yes,” in unison, and Jenny added, “ My 
Daddy has heaps of potato chips.” 

“ I’m ready for another cup of coffee, Cris- 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE 


27 


tel, and a piece of that gooey chocolate cake,” 
Billee informed her sister. 

“ But you shouldn’t have coffee! ” 

“ Oh, but I’m thirsty, and starving, too! ” 

“ Starving, after all those sandwiches? ” 

“ I don’t think the coffee will do her any 
harm, Cristel. It’s nearly all cream,” said 
Miss Steffens. 

“ You should hear the story of the pioneers, 
and then you wouldn’t talk about being starv¬ 
ing,” declared Cristel, pouring the coffee into 
Billee’s cup. 

“ We all know that,” volunteered Benny 
Ludlow. “ I think it’s thrilling,—all those 
people camped in the woods by the lake, and 
the wolves howling all night,—and nothing to 
eat. The women made soup out of bark, and 
tried to cook shoe-leather.” 

“ It must have been a wonderful adventure,” 
sighed Edgar Wall. Having just disposed of 
half a dozen sandwiches and two huge pieces of 
cake, he could afford to look at hardship in 
that light. 

“ Nevertheless,” began Mr. Sutherland, 
after the chatter had subsided, “ doesn’t it 



28 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


make you proud of your country to sit here 
and think what people went through for it? ” 
“ It doesn’t seem possible that such things 
happened on this very spot,” Cristel answered, 
her eyes softening with a characteristic, 
dreamy pensiveness. “And yet it is thrilling 
to be here, and picture all the scenes that took 
place under these trees. It’s almost as thrill¬ 
ing as seeing the home of George Washington 
would be, or going through an old castle where 
kings and knights fought.” 

“ That’s Cristel’s castle in Spain,—to see a 
castle,” volunteered Billee gaily, and the con¬ 
versation shifted to other topics. 

Purple shadows began to creep up over the 
drifts before Mr. Sutherland called, “ Every¬ 
body ready for home? ” 

There was a scramble to clear away what 
few scraps were left and to put out the last 
spark of fire. In a few moments they were in 
the sleigh again, and they started off through 
the twilight to the rhythm of Jingle Bells . 


CHAPTER III 


AUNT DOROTHY 

The big brown house had been scrubbed and 
scoured until it was almost immaculate, and 
still Cristel hovered from room to room, nerv¬ 
ously shifting a chair here, or flecking off a 
speck of dust there. 

“ It’s too bad that we haven’t some fresh 
flowers, Daddy,” she said. 

Mr. Thornton cocked his dark head on one 
side and surveyed the room critically. “ Those 
manzanita berries are very lovely against the 
brown woodwork, and I really like Fay’s ar¬ 
rangement of the furniture and rugs. She has 
quite a bit of taste, for a kiddie.” 

“ She has, in everything,” Cristel assented. 
“ Now, if only Terry doesn’t get in and run 
all over everything with his muddy paws. Do 
you suppose that Aunt Dorothy will approve 
of it all? ” She was going to say “ like it,” but 
that seemed too strong a verb to apply to one 

of her aunt’s temperament. 

29 


30 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


Mr. Thornton fingered his moustache pen¬ 
sively. “ Dorothy was always a bit old-maid¬ 
ish about things/’ he answered guardedly, 
“ even when she was a young girl. And you 
must remember that I haven’t seen her for 
years.” 

Cristel sighed. He certainly was not very 
encouraging. 

“ It’s almost nine o’clock, Daddy, and you 
said that you had an appointment at quarter 
after. Will you be back before you go to the 
station to meet Auntie? ” 

“No, I’ll get a bite of lunch down-town. 
Good-by, Cris. Don’t worry. Everything 
looks as nice as can be.” 

After her father had gone, Cristel still wan¬ 
dered about, rearranged a couple of colored 
plates in the dining-room, swept up the two 
hearths, kept a slow fire in the corner room. 
She hurried through the kitchen where Norah 
was hovering about, a good deal flustered—for 
Norah. However, the pots and pans gleamed 
in neat rows along the tiled wall, the stove and 
floor shone with the effects of much scrubbing. 
Just outside the entry, Cristel stopped with a 


AUNT DOROTHY 


31 


little scream, and Norah came running to see 
what was wrong. 

“ Oh, nothing much. But as usual, Billee’s 
forgotten to take off her rubbers, and the little 
cakes of snow that dropped from her heels are 
just melting all over the place. Norah, I’d 
just die, if Aunt Dorothy should come in and 
see this messy hall.” With a tragic gesture, 
she indicated the little puddles on the floor. 

“ Sure, Oi’ll mop it up in no time. Don’t 
worry, child, or ye’ll be a nervous wreck be¬ 
fore the woman even gets here.” 

Cristel was afraid that she should, especially 
when she went back to the heretofore meticu¬ 
lous living-room, and found Fay’s music scat¬ 
tered about the rack, her violin-case open on a 
chair, and the violin adorning the top of the 
piano. Cristel usually did not mind this; Fay 
picked up her music at such odd moments, but 
the expected guest was different. With an¬ 
other prodigious sigh, the young housekeeper 
removed a worn volume or two from a top shelf 
in the bookcase, and replaced them with two 
dry, but ornamentally bound books. A few 
more similar changes, and the bookcase began 


32 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


to look as spick and span as any in a museum, 
and about as tempting. 

She paused to consider for a few moments, 
and finally removed a few of the most worn 
volumes altogether. She was not quite sure 
but that a modern literary adviser might con¬ 
sider Dickens somewhat out-of-date. 

Luncheon that day was a strained, unhappy 
affair. Billee found herself the recipient of 
many don’ts, from the unfolding of her nap¬ 
kin, to the last spoonful of pudding. Fay took 
it upon herself even to criticize Cristel’s table¬ 
setting, no doubt as a sweet revenge for being 
scolded about leaving her music in disorderly 
array. 

After lunch dishes had been cleared away, 
there came another tour of inspection, and then 
Cristel called her younger sisters from their 
fun in the snow, and told them that it was time 
to dress. 

“ Don’t go near Auntie’s room, either of 
you,” she warned, “ and be sure you hang up 
your things.” 

Fay’s soft mouth puckered up. “ If it’s go¬ 
ing to be like this all the time, I—I’ll despise 


AUNT DOROTHY 


33 


her,” she declared, and could not be persuaded 
to retract her words. “ Just like Miss Murd- 
stone, in David Copperfield” 

“ Daddy’s sister couldn’t be like Miss Murd- 
stone,” Cristel demurred, “ and you must re¬ 
member, Fay, that no matter what happens, 
she is Daddy’s sister, and she has come all the 
way across the continent to take care of us.” 

Fay pouted even more, but she said nothing, 
and Cristel ran up to her own little room on the 
third floor. She loved this little nest of hers, 
with its sloping ceiling, and the one wide win¬ 
dow looking off over wooded mountain slopes 
to a glint of water where the creek formed a 
miniature falls as it leaped over a cliff. Even 
to-day, with the sky a sombre gray, the little 
cataract in the distance seemed to be rejoicing 
among its fringe of icicles. Cristel sat looking 
at her view until she was quite rested, and then 
turned her attention to rendering herself as 
presentable as possible to the critical eyes of 
Aunt Dorothy. The freckles on her cheeks 
bothered her. Her hair just wouldn’t go right, 
and to cap the climax, the back pleat of her 
skirt refused to hang straight. 


34 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ The only way to remedy it will be to sit 
on it for half an hour,” she decided, and forth¬ 
with hurried down-stairs and sat, for half a 
minute. At least, she never sat for more than 
half a minute at a time. There were final in¬ 
structions for Norah, and the rubbers on the 
front porch must be taken in, and of course 
she must go up and remind the girls to leave 
their room tidy. 

The familiar shriek of the train whistle star¬ 
tled her as she sat down for the twentieth time. 
Aunt Dorothy’s train! Billee chose this mo¬ 
ment to dash into the room with her best taf¬ 
feta frock buttoned entirely out of any sem¬ 
blance to its natural lines. 

“ Why didn’t you let Fay button it? ” Cris- 
tel asked, a little impatiently. Would Billee 
never learn to dress herself? 

“ She’s still prinkin’,—polishin’ up every 
single curl with a hair-brush. Thanks, Cristel. 
The train’s in. Guess she’ll be here any min¬ 
ute, now. Am I all right? ” 

Cristel gave her a last pat and tug, and de¬ 
cided that Billee was as nearly “ all right ” as 
possible. 


AUNT DOROTHY 


85 


“ Now go to the piano and play that lullaby 
you were practising, or anything else that’s 
soothing.” 

Billee laughed. “Poor Cris! You’re all 
fidgety. I’m not going to let Aunt Dorothy 
bother me that much, and neither is Fay, you 
can bet. I’m just bustin’ to know what she’s 
like, though.” 

“ Billee!” 

“ Well, I am almost b-” 

“ Don't say it again.” 

“ All right. You do need calming, Cris. 
I’ll play Chopin’s Funeral March ” 

She began to play, with exaggerated em¬ 
phasis. The sombre chords brought a nervous 
laugh. “ Heavens, Billee, not that! What 
would she think, coming in to such an accom¬ 
paniment? ” 

Billee obligingly swung into a Macdowell 
theme, just as steps were heard on the front 
porch. Cristel tossed her head and stepped 
to the door. She had done her best. Now, it 
was up to Aunt Dorothy. If she was of the 
disapproving kind, nothing more would help, 
anyway. 



36 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


Voices in the hall—Mr. Thornton’s, and a 
woman’s pleasingly modulated one, exclaim¬ 
ing, “ Such a pretty path! ” 

“ She calls a path a pahth” whispered Billee, 
coming up beside her sister. 

“ Sh-h-h. Daddy does, too, sometimes. We 
must go out, Billee. Where’s Fay? ” 

Just then, the door slid open, revealing Mr. 
Thornton, standing beside a young woman. 
Her head was bent over a refractory glove- 
button; she did not lift her eyes until he had 
said, “ Dorothy, here are your nieces, Crist el 
and Billee.” 

Even Cristel stood and stared. Aunt Doro¬ 
thy had dimples! And brown, twinkly eyes, 
tiny white teeth, and the sauciest little 
turned-up nose! Impulsive Billee scarcely 
could restrain a whoop of delight as she rushed 
forward to hug her. 

“Why, you’re just a girl!” she informed 
her aunt cheerfully, “ and we thought you were 
a funny old maid like those in the comics.” 

Cristel’s shocked protest was drowned in 
Dorothy’s merry laughter. “ Is that what was 
the matter? I thought perhaps there was a 


AUNT DOROTHY 


37 


smudge of soot on my nose or something. And 
this is Cristel? ” She kissed the oldest niece 
warmly. “ Martin, what on earth have you 
been telling the children about me? ” 

Mr. Thornton looked nonplussed. “ I’m 
afraid I haven’t been very encouraging. Y r ou 
see, Dorothy, I wasn’t so sure, myself, what 
you would be like after seven years as an ef¬ 
ficient business woman.” 

The brother and sister exchanged reminis¬ 
cent glances. “ I think you will win, in the end. 
You always do,” Mr. Thornton said, and the 
girls wondered what he meant. 

“ But where is my other niece, Fay? ” Doro¬ 
thy inquired. “I’m so anxious to see her. 
She’s the violiniste, isn’t she? ” 

As if acting on a cue, Fay appeared, a fairy 
vision in pale blue, her curls shining like spun 
gold. She stopped in the middle of her much- 
practised greeting, however, and lost every 
trace of desire to impress, in her frank con¬ 
templation of her aunt’s fascinating eyes and 
dimples. 

“ Is this—Aunt Dorothy? ” she asked 
weakly. 


38 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ It is, you darling,” that person told her 
gaily, while the two stood smiling mutual ad¬ 
miration at each other. 

Aunt Dorothy’s conquest was completed 
when she took off her hat. Her dark hair was 
short, but it framed her face in attractive 
curves. Even her brother had to admit that 
cutting off her hair had not wreaked such 
devastation as he had supposed. Dorothy’s 
“ bob ” was really very becoming, so much so, 
that Fay found herself wondering if curls were 
so enviable, after all. 

The girls glowed with satisfaction while they 
piloted her through the rooms and she ex¬ 
claimed in delight over everything, including 
Patsy the yellow kitten, Terry, and Billee’s 
three ducks, waddling across the yard in single 
file. 

i 

“ They’re named after the Three Muske¬ 
teers,” Billee informed her proudly; “that 
cocky golden one is d’Artagnan.” 

Some time later, Dorothy rose from the 
piano, leaving the music on the rack. “You 
don’t really mind, do you, Cristel? ” she asked. 
“ I don’t want to interfere with the habits of 


AUNT DOROTHY 


39 


such a perfect little housekeeper, but I always 
think a piano looks more friendly with a few 
sheaves of music on the rack.” Whereupon 
Billee winked, and Fay giggled. 

That evening, Cristel stole into the living- 
room, stopped to pet Terry and Patsy who 
were curled up together on the rug, and then 
walked over to replace the worn copies of Dick¬ 
ens on the shelves. 

“ We might have known that she couldn’t 
be like what we thought,” she mused, “ when 
she’s Daddy’s little sister, and her name is 
Dorothy! ” 


CHAPTER IV 


MEMORIES 

Despite her bobbed hair and dimples, Aunt 
Dorothy was a most business-like little person. 
She kept her room in perfect order, was always 
prompt at meals, and devoted regular hours 
every day to the “ scads of mail ” (Billee’s ex¬ 
pression) which came for her. And whether 
in tailored business suit or informal house- 
dress, she was the epitome of neatness. A sug¬ 
gestion of reserve in her manner made her all 
the more adorable to the three young Thorn¬ 
tons. From the very first moment, they fairly 
worshipped her. Billee always maintained that 
Fay stood speechless for fully fifteen minutes, 
the first time that she saw Aunt Dorothy in an 
evening gown. As for Billee herself, she might 
have been seen industriously polishing the toes 
of her shoes (though leaving the heels rather 
conspicuously dull) and one might even catch 
her coaxing out the wave in her hair. Cristel 

40 


MEMORIES 


41 


smiled with a “ big sisterly ” air at the two 
younger girls, and then proceeded to squander 
fifty cents of her precious savings on a jar of 
the new freckle-cream that Daskam’s drug 
store was advertising. 

“ Aunt Dee,” Fay inquired, one evening, 
after they had all sat regarding the coals for 
some minutes, “ did you really mean what you 
said to Daddy the other night, about your ca¬ 
reer,—and never getting married, and all 
that? ” 

Dorothy’s surprise ended in a laugh. “ Wor¬ 
ried, Precious? Are you anxious to be rid of 
me?” 

“ No. But it’s awful to be an old maid, 
isn’t it? ” Fay persisted. 

“ Not so very dreadful,” Dorothy laughed. 

“ Oh, I think it is,” declared Fajr, quite em¬ 
phatically. “ I’m going to marry a rich and 
handsome man who can play my accompani¬ 
ments for me.” 

“ And what will Billee do then? ” smiled 
Cristel. 

“ Oh, she’ll be playing concertos herself, by 
that time.” 


42 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ I will not! I’m going to be a tennis cham¬ 
pion, and get my picture on the sport page.” 

They all laughed, much to Billee’s amaze¬ 
ment. “Well, I am!” she repeated, with a 
belligerent glance for any one who dared deny 
it. “ I beat Ben Ludlow once, last summer.” 

“ So I heard,” agreed Dorothy soothingly. 
“ How about Cristel? Are you planning to 
‘ set the world on fire,’ too? ” 

Cristel only smiled dreamily. 

“ Oh, Cris will be the old maid of the fam¬ 
ily,” said wise young Fay. “ She doesn’t like 
boys, and she can’t play, or paint, or anything. 
She’ll just stay home and keep house for 
Father, like that girl in the story we’re 
reading.” 

“ And if she does, we’ll be just as proud of 
her as of any vain Puss and Fiddle.” Mr. 
Thornton’s voice was gentle, and he stroked the 
shining hair as he spoke. Fay’s eyes softened. 

“ Well, at any rate, it’s always the heroine 
in a book who is a comfort to her parents,” 
Fay admitted consolingly. 

“ Cristel,” began Dorothy. “ Suppose some 
good fairy appeared to you and said, ‘ You 


MEMORIES 


43 


may have one wish, but it must be something 
for your very own self, no one else.’ What 
would you wish for? ” 

Four pairs of eyes turned inquiringly to¬ 
ward the oldest sister. “ Something for my 
very own self? ” she drawled thoughtfully. 
“ Well, I think I’d ask to go abroad. I’d like 
to see those darling Dutch children with their 
cute white caps and wooden shoes, and I’d like 
to go to England and see the place where 
Dickens went to school, and London Bridge, 
and Stratford-on-Avon, where Shakespeare 
was born. That’s what I’d wish for, a trip to 
Europe.” 

“ Would you really? ” exclaimed Fay. “ I 
thought you liked to stay at home and read.” 

“ No,” put in understanding Billee. “ Cris 
likes to have interestin’ things happen, so that 
she can write about them in her brown journal. 
She has all about the Donner monument, and 
what it means, and she wrote all about why the 
Indians named Lake Tahoe 4 Lake of the Sky,’ 
but ’most every day she has nothin’ to write 
about, ’ceptin’ how Fay burned the toast, or 
how I fell in the mud on the way to school.” 


M THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

“ Do you let other people read this brown 
journal? ” queried Dorothy. 

“ If they want to.” 

“ And if I should want to? ” 

Cristel hesitated. “ Perhaps, some day,” she 
said finally. 

Dorothy did not urge her. “ Well, I hope 
that you will be able to see all the interesting 
places you would like to describe in your brown 
journal,” she said. “ When these other two 
chicks become rich and famous, who knows 
what may happen? ” 

“I’ll take you with me when I go around 
winning championships,” volunteered Billee, 
“ or maybe Fay’s millionaire will give you the 
money.” 

“ With two such offers, you ought to be able 
to get there,” Mr. Thornton chuckled. “ While 
you ladies are mapping out your futures, I’ll 
run into my den and attend to those Burton 
papers. You can take them over to the office, 
Fay, when you go for your violin strings.” 

“ That reminds me, I have a Harmony prob¬ 
lem to work out for to-morrow’s lesson. Come 
on, Fay. You promised to help me with it.” 


MEMORIES 


45 


Billee took Fay’s arm and escorted her out 
without waiting for acquiescence. 

Left alone with her aunt, Cristel appropri¬ 
ated a footstool at her feet, and sat for a long 
time absorbed in Dorothy’s accounts of the 
people and places she had seen. She watched 
the shifting green lights in the dark blue stone 
of Dorothy’s ring, while she visualized the little 
Australian gem shop from which it had come. 

“ The Australian opals are irresistible,” 
Dorothy declared. 

“ I know,” nodded Cristel. “ I saw some, 
last time I was in San Francisco,—dark ones, 
with shifting fire in them, and others all milky 
white and gold, like clouds and sunshine.” 

Dorothy silently studied the dreamy face 
until Cristel spoke again. “ Tell me some 
more of your experiences,” she begged. 

“ I had one little adventure that you would 
have enjoyed,” Dorothy began, after a pause. 
“ It was in the Varied Industries Building at 
the San Francisco World Fair. Mother just 
couldn’t tear herself away from the Persian 
rug exhibit, but even $500,000 rugs grow tire¬ 
some to a little girl, and I looked about for 


46 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


something else to occupy my attention. A 
group of schoolgirls came in, and I drifted 
along with them, admiring ebony tables and 
chairs inlaid with gold and pearl in dainty, in¬ 
tricate designs. I was soon talking with the 
brown-eyed girl who seemed to be in charge of 
the display. She laughed when I told her that 
the rugs and furniture seemed gorgeous 
enough for a palace in the Arabian Nights , 
and promised to show me things that were used 
in real palaces. 

“ The schoolgirls strolled along with us while 
the pretty Persian opened many cases full of 
wonderful things. She gave us perfumed Ori¬ 
ental candy, and allowed us to handle what she 
called her 4 bead-work,’—silken scarfs and 
velvet slippers embroidered in real pearls and 
golden thread! 

They’re fit for a princess,’ I told her. 

“ She laughed merrily and said that a prin¬ 
cess would wear the velvet slippers. ‘Now I 
will show you things worn by kings and 
queens,’ she added. 

“ Another locked room was opened, and I 
pinched myself to see if I were really awake. 



MEMORIES 


47 


Such an array of diamonds, rubies, pearls, tur¬ 
quoises,—case after case of them! She pointed 
out the crown jewel of Persia, two immense 
diamonds encircled by smaller ones, and next 
to it was a ring set with the most valuable tur¬ 
quoise in the world. The betrothal ring of the 
Shah held a ruby as big as a quarter.—Rare 
old illuminated books and manuscripts, vases, 
pottery, and all this magnificent jewelry,—I 
shall never forget the wonders I saw that day. 

“ We learned that our fascinating hostess 
had come to America only nine months before, 
in the veil and Oriental garb of her country, 
and that she had worn her veil and adhered 
strictly to her native customs for several weeks. 

“ She explained that in Persia the little girls 
start to school at the age of six, under the in¬ 
struction of men. Rut as soon as they are ten 
years old, Persian girls put heavy black veils 
over their faces, and must look at no man 
unless he be a close relative. She went on to 
say that when she first came to America, she 
wore her veil and looked at no man, not even 
at the President of the United States, when 
she was presented to him. ‘ But/ she ended, 


48 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


4 you see that I have changed since then. I 
wish to learn all the American ways, and so I 
wear American clothes and do as the Ameri¬ 
cans do.’ 

“ I was just wondering who this little maid 
could be when I was recalled from my visions 
of Oriental splendor by Mother’s voice. I 
thanked my Persian hostess and said a hasty 
good-by. 

“ Even after I had recounted my experi¬ 
ences, Mother could scarcely believe that I had 
been admitted to the Persian jewel-room. 
Suddenly she asked me what the Persian girl 
looked like, and when I described her, Mother 
just stood stock still and exclaimed: 

“ ‘ I believe you’ve been talking to a prin¬ 
cess, Dorothy! ’ 

“ I took the newspaper that Mother held 
out, and there, on the front page was a photo¬ 
graph of the smiling, brown-eyed lady. Under 

it was printed ‘ Princess B-of Persia, who 

is in San Francisco for the World Fair’ ! ” 

“How—how thrilling!” gasped Cristel, 
with shining eyes. “A real live princess! Still, 
you might have guessed; nobody but a princess 



MEMORIES 


49 


would embroider with pearls and golden 
thread.” 

The hour hand was nearing twelve, and still 
Cristel sat listening to the chronicle of Aunt 
Dorothy’s girlhood. Somehow it brought her 
nearer. The efficient business woman sitting 
beside her did not seem so far removed from 
the young girl who had thrilled as Cristel 
might have done, over her glimpse of “ a real 
live princess.” 

“ Of course,” Cristel began after a pause, “ I 
haven’t had nearly so many interesting things 
to write about, but if you really want to see 
my brown journal-” 

“ I do want to, very much.” 

“ Then I’ll leave it in your room to-night.” 

Dorothy nodded “All right,” and smiled 
with sly triumph. 



CHAPTER V 


cristel’s journal 

Even after Crist el was asleep, that night, 
Dorothy sat browsing through the brown jour¬ 
nal with something more than ordinary in¬ 
terest, for behind the naive pictures of home 
life in the little Sierra town, shone a dream that 
she, too, had dreamed. Crist el, in many ways, 
was like the girl that she had been. 

“ Fay played her first piece in public to¬ 
night,” wrote Cristel, four years before. “ She 
looked so sweet in her new blue dress, and 
played The Swan just beautifully. We’re all 
so proud of her.” 

A year later—“ Billee and Fay are being 
much petted and spoiled after their Beethoven 
concert. Everybody is talking about ‘ those 
talented Thornton girls,’ and Daddy is just 
beaming. Sometimes I feel like the ugly 
duckling, even though Miss Redmond does 
comment on my themes. Writing is a selfish 
sort of pastime, unless one writes for others. 
I wonder if that’s too big a dream for me? ” 

50 



CRISTEL’S JOURNAL 


51 


Dorothy reread this little paragraph, and 
smiled an understanding smile over the dream 
that was “ too big.” She read on, chuckling 
over accounts of Billee’s escapades, of Fay’s 
temperamental moods, and the trials of the 
young housekeeper. The little book was brim¬ 
ful of fun and adventure, notwithstanding the 
fact that Cristel had seldom been away from 
Lakrest. 


“ September 4, 19— 

“ To-day was such a day! Nurse Anne was 
in bed with a dreadful cold, and Norah left on 
an early train to shop in Sacramento. Fay, 
the darling, thought that she would atone for 
yesterday’s tantrum by proving what a little 
angel she could be in an emergency. Both she 
and Billee had disappeared when I went in to 
call them, and at the same minute I got a 
dreadful whiff of something burning. So, even 
before I had time to look in on Nurse Anne, I 
rushed down to the kitchen. The smoke was 
as dense as a London fog. (Never saw a Lon¬ 
don fog, but that’s a good simile.) The odor 
was suffocating. I jerked open the door of 
the broiler, and there, in the neatest rows I 
ever hope to see, were a dozen slices of bread, 
burnt to a crisp and still smoking. When I 
finally had the house aired out, and the broiler 


52 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


cool enough to start another batch of toast, 
Billee and Fay came running in, wide-eyed 
and frightened. 

“ ‘ No, it isn’t a fire. You’ve only burnt up 
a loaf of bread,’ I told them, not very sweetly, 
I’m afraid. They didn’t seem to know what 
I was talking about. 

“ ‘A loaf of bread? No, Cris, it’s Nurse 
Anne that’s all burnt up. We’ve burned her 
’most to death. Oh, Cris! ’ 

“ I left that kitchen in two leaps, and stam¬ 
peded up the stairs, expecting to find Nurse 
Anne writhing in sheets of flame. But she was 
lying quite still, and there was no sign of an 
exploded stove or anything of that sort. What 
on earth had they meant? Nurse groaned, and 
I rushed over. 

What’s the matter? What have they 
done to you? ’ I asked her. 

Oh, nothing much, it’s just that mustard 
plaster. Fay put it on, and I fell asleep, and 
she forgot to take it off. Child, get me some 
sweet oil, quick. I’m almost skinned alive.’ ” 

Dorothy chuckled and read on. 

“ October 15, 19— 

“ Woodpiles are stacking up, and the whirr 
of the circular saws cuts in on Fay’s practice 
and just about drives her wild. She says that 
the saw makes a chromatic glissando, or some 


CRISTEL’S JOURNAL 


53 


such thing, and how can she practise a dreamy 
cantabile with that horrid chromatic glissando 
interfering all the time? But I like the whirr 
of the saws, the woodpiles, the reddening 
leaves, and all the other signs of autumn. 
The sheep and cattle are beginning to come 
down from the high pastures, and they go 
mooing through the very centre of town, stir¬ 
ring up dust and excitement. Billee has a 
dreadful habit of making friends with all the 
herders. Yesterday she came home and showed 
us how to twirl a lariat. But it was last week 
that she did the most dreadful thing. Some 
day Billee is going to see us all drop dead of 
heart-failure. 

“ Just as she was coming from the post- 
office, Saturday, she heard the baaing of a herd 
of sheep, passing along the flume road. Of 
course she must needs dash away to see them 
pass, but that was not enough. She had to 
follow them, pet the lambs, play with the 
collies, and forget her responsibilities generally, 
until it was way past lunch time. 

“ We were all worried, naturally, and so 
when she didn’t arrive at two o’clock, I went 
out to look for her. We had heard the sheep 
passing and guessed what she was about. We 
were sure either that she was still following 
them, or that she had wandered down some side 
trail and gotten lost, perhaps hurt. I was pre¬ 
pared for anything but what I actually saw 


54 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


when I finally found her, a mile or more down 
the flume. 

“ On a little knoll above the road I saw her 
silhouetted against the light. I hailed her, hut 
she only made frantic gestures for silence. It 
was some time before I managed to scramble 
up beside her to see what it was all about, and 
my hair nearly stood on end! Not fifty feet 
away, in the hollow directly below, was a full- 
grown bear, feasting on berries while Billee 
stood there, calmly watching! 

“ ‘ He’s been following the sheep,’ she told 
me nonchalantly. ‘ I’m so glad he found the 
berries, ’cause the lambs are too darling to be 
eaten by an old bear.’ 

“ It took forcible persuasion to get Billee 
away from there. She couldn’t see why I 
objected to a first-hand study of animal lore, 
even when our commotion had attracted the at¬ 
tention of old Bruin, and he stood surveying 
us contemplatively. Finally he ambled off 
into the woods, and Billee was triumphant. 

“ ‘ Bears aren’t interested in girls when there 
are berries around,’ she said disdainfully. 

“ Two days later, Benny Ludlow saw a bear 
entering the woods a mile above Lookout 
Point, and we’re all just as glad as Billee that 
Bruin has given up following the sheep and 
‘ eating up the darling little lambs.’ ” 

At times the journal verged into bits of 


CRISTEL’S JOURNAL 


55 


description or folk-lore, occasionally a crude, 

% 

but colorful poem. Dorothy pored long over 
the little book, now and then forgetting even 
to appraise it with her keen, editorial eye. It 
was long after midnight when she turned out 
her light. 

“ Cristel has made the most of her limited 
experiences,” she reflected. “ I wonder what 
she would do with the world outside of Lak- 
rest. ” Dorothy was radiant, for she had 
found out something that she wanted to know, 
and she had made a decision. 


CHAPTER VI 


LOOKOUT TRAIL 

One afternoon in early March, Billee stood 
on the porch of the big brown house, sniffing 
the air like a contented little animal, and not¬ 
ing with satisfaction, the unmistakable signs 
of spring,—water dripping from the eaves 
where icicles had hung, patches of green show¬ 
ing through the soft wet snow, tight red buds 
on the bare trees. There was a pungent odor 
of moist earth in the air. Billee wanted to 
turn off into the woods and see if the trails 
were clear, but she knew that it must be damp 
and slushy. She did not quite know what to 
do with herself this afternoon. Aunt Dorothy 
was busy writing; Cristel had gone with Fay 
to the dentist’s. She finally tossed her scarf 
about her shoulders and wandered off down 
the road. 

Turning away from town, she branched off 
into a narrow byway and in five minutes was 
out of sight of any habitation. On each side 

56 


LOOKOUT TRAIL 


57 


of her, dense forests of pine bordered the road, 
with here and there a tempting trail leading 
off into the darkness. Billee hesitated at one 
of these openings, but shook her head. The 
sun had had little effect upon these shaded 
trails. They were still deep in snow. 

“Anyhow, I can manage the short trail to 
Lookout Point,” she decided, impatient at the 
necessity of setting one foot directly in front 
of the other. She stopped where the trail to 
Lookout Point branched off. The snow was 
still smooth and white along it. No one had 
been there since the fall. She hesitated 
a while, then slowly, gingerly, began stepping 
along the smooth white line that marked the 
trail. 

“ I can manage it,” Billee told herself, even 
as she slipped and struggled upward. “And 
won't I crow when Benny Ludlow finds that I 
was the one who broke the trail to Lookout 
Point, this spring? ” Benny had claimed that 
distinction for several years. 

It was a moist and slippery struggle, and 
once or twice, Billee clung close to the side of 
a cliff while she gazed down into dizzying 


58 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


depths that dropped sheer into nowhere, it 
seemed. But she reached the end of the trail 
without mishap, stepped triumphantly out onto 
the clear abutment known as Lookout Point, 
and glanced down over the miles of forested 
mountain and level valley below. Already the 
waning sun was tinting the distant, snow-clad 
hills with fairy colors,—rose and gold, and 
delicate amethyst. Billee was subdued by the 
grandeur of it all. 

“ I wish Aunt Dorothy could see it,” she 
soliloquized, and the thought brought her 
senses back to earth. “Aunt Dorothy! Even 
Cristel will have a tit when she finds out where 
I’ve been.” 

With a none too easy conscience, she turned 
away and started down the trail again, follow¬ 
ing as closely as she could, the footsteps she 
had made on her way up. The descent was 
easier, for every sliding footstep was a gain. 
She began to hurry, gloating over her achieve¬ 
ment,—the first to break the trail to Lookout 
Point! Half running, half sliding, she raced 
along, singing a victorious refrain, and so the 
thing happened before she realized it. 



LOOKOUT TRAIL 


59 


It was the steep bit of trail just above the 
curve. Billee tried to stop her swift, slippery 
descent in time to feel her way cautiously 
around the dangerous spot, but it was too late. 
The wall to which she had clung before seemed 
to leap suddenly sideways, and Billee was 
shooting off into space! For an agonizing 
second she felt herself falling into a sheer, 
black chasm. And just as suddenly, her ter¬ 
rifying descent was interrupted by the out¬ 
spreading branches of a burly pine which clung 
to the side of the cliff. She grasped the 
branches with both hands, held tight, and closed 
her eyes, in obedience to some instinct which 
warned her not to look down. 

“ Safe, safe, safe,” she told her reeling 
senses. Billee did not know that she was using 
Coue, or any other kind of psychology. At 
any rate, it worked, and in a few moments she 
was able to loosen her frantic clutch, open her 
eyes, and adjust herself quite comfortably in 
the branches, while she looked up and tried 
to figure out a way back to the trail. She 
very nearly let go, for there, peering down at 
her from the upper branches, were two 


60 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


startled blue eyes. Their owner was creep¬ 
ing gingerly from branch to branch. 

“ Hang on! ” he called cheerfully. “ I’ll get 
you out of it.” 

Whereupon Billee promptly demonstrated 
that she needed no assistance as far as climb¬ 
ing trees was concerned, even trees that seemed, 
like this one, to be rooted in space. A strong 
hand grasped her arm as she struggled upward. 

“ Hurt? ” 

“ N-no, only bruised a little. Ouch! ” 

It was a hair-raising experience, that climb, 
with safety only fifty feet away, but eternity 
just a matter of a false step. However, they 
“ made it,”—Billee and her unknown rescuer, 
and at last they stood on the trail, gazing down 
into the chasm which yawned hungrily below 
them. 

“ Do you know, kid,—that was a narrow 
escape? ” 

Billee, in comparative safety, soon regained 
her composure. She looked up into the 
smooth-shaven, clean-cut face. 

“ Did you fall over the edge, too? ” 

“No,” he laughed shakily. “ I was coming 


LOOKOUT TRAIL 


Cl 


up the trail, and I saw you fall. Whatever 
brought a kiddie like you up here? ” 

Billee removed a solacing hand from her 
bruised shoulder and flashed a protesting, “ I 
was just pioneering. I can break trails as well 
as anybody.” 

“ Yes, I guess you can,” he hastily assured 
her. “ Suppose we amble back toward town. 
I guess the worst is over.” 

He was more shaken up than Billee herself. 
Back on the comfortably wide road again, she 
promptly proceeded to recover her usual spirits, 
and was soon contemplating the stranger with 
interest. She wondered who he was, and how 
he happened to be on Lookout Trail. 

“ Guess I nearly missed the honor of break¬ 
ing the trail,” she said finally. “ You came 
near being the one, didn’t you? Do you live 
far from here? ” 

He smiled. “ Rather. I came some little 
distance to see the famous view from Lookout 
Point, among other things.” 

Billee stopped, dismayed. “And you didn’t 
see it, after all! Why don’t you go back? I’m 
really quite all right.” 


62 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

He shook his head. “ I sha’n’t feel satisfied 
until I see you safely home. I can look at the 
view another time.” 

Without knowing exactly why, Billee al¬ 
ready liked this tall, blue-eyed stranger. She 
tucked her hand confidingly in his, and looked 
up at him. 

“ I’m sure it’s very nice of you. My name 
is Wilma Thornton, but everybody calls me 
Billee.” 

“And it just suits you.” His smile was 
wide and boyish. “ You don’t happen to have 
any relatives in New York, do you? Of the 
same name, I mean.” 

Billee shook her head. “ No, I’ve only one 
uncle. He’s in Cuba, and his name is George. 
There are lots of Thorntons that aren’t any 
relation to us.” 

“ I suppose.” 

“We haven’t any relatives around here, un¬ 
less you count Aunt Dorothy. She’s staying 
with us for a while.” 

“ Yes?” 

“ Uh-huh. She’s not like most of the aunts 
you hear about, though. She’s young-looking 


LOOKOUT TRAIL 


63 


and pretty, though I guess she really is rather 
old, twenty-five at least, maybe twenty-six.” 

He looked down at her as she continued. 
“Aunt Dorothy doesn’t like men or cows, but 
I don’t see how she can help liking you.” 

A sudden laugh made Billee wonder what 
funny thing she had said now. “ This is where 
I live,” she informed him finally, as they 
stopped before the gate. “ Here’s my sister 
going into town with Auntie’s pile of mail. 
Cristel, this is Mr.—Mr.-” 

“ Blake,” the man supplied. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Blake? ” Cristel 
greeted him cordially, though she looked at 
Billee accusingly. How many times they had 
cautioned her about making friends with 
strangers! 

“ I met him—that is, eh,” Billee wondered 
how she was going to explain. She could not 
very well tell Cristel that she had met Mr. 
Blake up in a pine-tree, and yet that was 
exactly the case. 

Mr. Blake came to her assistance verbally, 
this time. 

“ When I first saw your sister a half hour 



64j 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


or so ago, she was hanging to a pine-tree 
rooted in the edge of Lookout Trail, and tell¬ 
ing the world how safe she was. I—didn’t 
exactly agree with her, and it did not take 
much arguing to persuade her to climb back to 
a firmer hold on life.” 

Cristel paled. That Billee could have 
thought of attempting Lookout Trail at this 
time of year was beyond comprehension. 

“ Yes, he rescued me,” the culprit admitted. 
“ It was very nice of him,” she reminded Cris¬ 
tel. Cristel did not seem to appreciate Mr. 
Blake’s heroism, even yet. Oh yes, she was 
giving him her hand. 

“ Billee went over the edge, and you risked 
your life? ” 

“ No risk at all,” Mr. Blake insisted. “ You 
have a plucky little sister.” 

“ Plucky, or something,” Cristel sighed, in 
a way which made Billee think that she was 
rather doubtful about it. “ To think of what 
might have happened! ” 

“ Don’t think of it,” Mr. Blake advised her 
gaily. “ The danger is all over, and Billee has 
even forgotten her bruises.” 


LOOKOUT TRAIL 65 

Cristel was immediately contrite. “ You’re 
hurt, dear! ” 

“ No,” Billee denied, “ just a bump on my 
shoulder.” She was rather glad that there was 
a bump somewhere, for Cristel’s sympathy was 
much more agreeable than her reproach. 

“ Come in right away, and I’ll attend to it. 
Will you come, too, Mr. Blake, and have some 
tea? You must be cold.” 

“ Thank you, no. It’s getting late, and I 
must be going on. I’ll be going through town. 
May I take your mail in for you? ” 

Cristel thanked him and handed him the 
packet. “ There are several that I was going 
to deliver in person, but it won’t matter. 
They’re stamped, and may as well go through 
the post-office.” 

“ If you like, I’ll deliver those for local 
people. It won’t be out of my way.” 

“ Thank you. I’ll be ever so much obliged. 
They’re late, and that will save a day or so. 
But please don’t go to any trouble.” 

“ It won’t be any trouble at all. Good-by.” 
He turned and strode away with a gallant 
wave of his hat. 


66 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

“ Isn’t he nice? ” 

“ As far as I know, but Billee, I do wish 
you would tell me, next time you go off by 
yourself. Just think what might have happened 
if that pine-tree hadn’t been there, or if Mr. 
Blake hadn’t happened by.” 

“ But there’s always somebody near to rescue 
me. ’Member last summer, at Lake Tahoe? 
I stepped off the pier to see if the bottom was 
as blue as the top, but I never did find out, 
’cause Peter Herbert rescued me before I could 
even sink that far.” 

But Cristel was gazing pensively after the 
tall figure down the road. “ I don’t know any¬ 
thing about that man,—and yet, I meekly 
handed over all that valuable mail. What will 
Auntie think! ” 

“ Oh, Mr. Blake’s all right,” Billee asserted 
confidently. “We forgot to ask him where he 
lives.” 

“ That’s just it, Billee.” 

“ But, Cris, you don’t think he would steal! ” 
Billee fumed indignantly. 

“ No, I don’t, but Auntie will be worried.” 

Cristel told her about it immediately, but 



LOOKOUT TRAIL 


67 


ended her confession with a positive, “ I’m 
sure the letters are safe with Mr. Blake, 
Auntie. Why, he’s the very nicest man I’ve 
ever met.” 

Dorothy made no reply, and there was a line 
between her eyes. 


CHAPTER VII 


fay’s secret 

Mr. Blake had delivered several local let¬ 
ters, and so the uncertainty on that score and 
the excitement over Billee’s adventure soon 
subsided, and the attention of the girls turned 
toward spring vacation. Aunt Dorothy had 
hinted that she might take advantage of the 
holiday to indulge in a trip to San Francisco, 
in which event she would of course take one of 
the girls with her. Fay openly expressed her 
desire to go, emphasizing the fact that Father 

had promised her a real Symphony Concert 
soon. 

“ And there are other things in San Fran¬ 
cisco right now that I may never have a 
chance to see again,” she added. 

Crist el turned from the bookcase in time to 
catch an interchange of glances between her 
and Billee, and the half-forgotten secret of 
Fay’s popped into her mind. She had scarcely 

68 


FAY’S SECRET 


69 


thought of it since the day that Fay had 
promised to tell her sometime. 

“ What is there that you particularly want 
to see? ” asked Mr. Thornton, looking up from 
his paper. 

“ Oh, just everything,” Fay answered in¬ 
definitely. “You know, Daddy, I haven’t 
been to the city for almost two years.” 

“ Neither have your sisters. It’s really Cris- 
tel’s turn.” 

Dorothy took this opportunity to insert 
gently, “ I had quite made up my mind to take 
Cristel. I’m anxious to see what she will write 
about it all in the brown journal.” 

Cristel was about to thank her, when some¬ 
thing in Fay’s expression stopped her, some¬ 
thing more than the hint of rebellion in which 
Fay sometimes indulged when she could not 
have her way. There was genuine disappoint¬ 
ment in the blue eyes, and a shade of wistful¬ 
ness as they rested on Cristel inquiringly. The 
oldest sister cleared her throat, and spoke as 
evenly as she could. 

“ That’s dear of you, Aunt Dorothy, but 
we’ve all been promising Fay that Symphony 


70 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


for months. Would you mind taking her in¬ 
stead? It really doesn’t make much difference 
which one of us goes, does it? ” 

Dorothy looked quizzically from the young¬ 
est to the oldest. She saw Fay’s expression 
change to eager hopefulness, but her keen eyes 
saw also, Cristel’s disappointment. 

“You see, Auntie,” Fay went on, “they 
have promised me.” 

For a moment Dorothy hesitated, and then, 
—“ I’m sorry, Fay,” she said firmly. “ I’ve 
really promised Cristel.” 

“ But she says I may go instead.” 

“ Perhaps another time, dear. I have very 
good reasons for wanting to take Cristel, now.” 

An ominous silence settled over the room. 
Everybody seemed to be waiting for the ex¬ 
pected outburst, but Fay disappointed them. 
She merely sank back in her chair, winking 
back the tears that welled up. It was more 
than Cristel could bear. 

“ Really, Auntie,” she said appealingly, 
“I’d rather have her go.” 

Dorothy continued to study the two faces. 
“ I’ve quite decided that you’re to go,” she 



FAY’S SECRET 


71 


told Cristel at length, then smiling into Fay’s 
disappointed face, “ It just occurs to me that 
one of the others ought to go along, too, to 
keep Cristel company when I’m busy.” 

“ Fay, of course,” Billee spoke for herself. 
“ I’d rather go later, and hear some of the 
summer organ recitals in the Auditorium, and 
maybe see the Junior Championship matches.” 

Fay’s tears disappeared in a radiant smile. 

“ Please, Aunt Dee! ” 

“ Well, since your sisters are both so accom¬ 
modating.” 

“ You’re all dears ” Fay beamed, suddenly 
appreciative of the fact that others were will¬ 
ing to sacrifice their desires to hers. 

As it turned out, it was Fay and Billee who 
left with Dorothy for San Francisco, and 
Cristel who stood on the platform waving good- 
by. Mr. Thornton had received a sudden call 
from Portland. Cristel stayed behind to help 
him pack, and to see him off, but two days 
later, she boarded a south-bound train to join 
the others. 

It was her first journey alone, but she was 


72 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


exultant and unafraid. Something within her 
found satisfaction in the anticipation of new 
scenes and faces. She reveled in vistas of lake 
and woodland, and hungrily observed every 
hint of change as the train descended rapidly 
into the foot-hills toward the warm, fruitful 
valleys. 

Salt breezes off the bay at last told her 
that her destination was near. She hurriedly 
gathered wraps and baggage in order that she 
might procure a forward seat on the ferry and 
watch San Francisco’s skyline evolve out of 
the mist. Just as the boat headed for the slip, 
a million lights flashed on and twinkled 
through the dusk as if to welcome her. 

Dorothy met her at the ferry building and 
carried her off through the crowd to what she 
laughingly termed the “ sky parlor,” a tiny 
apartment on the top floor of Mrs. Crofton’s 
one-time mansion. 

44 Oh, isn’t this cosy! ” was Cristel’s exclama¬ 
tion, at first glimpse of it. The place shone 
with dim rose lights, and the fireplace sent out 
a cheery glow. 

Dorothy disappeared and shortly came back 


FAY’S SECRET 


73 

to say, “ The water still runs hot, so you can 
have a warm shower if you want to, Cris. Our 
home-made shower is one of Billee’s inven¬ 
tions, but it works pretty well, and you’ll ap¬ 
preciate it after a trip through the smoky 
tunnels.” 

“ Hurry and get into something comfort¬ 
able,” advised Fay, “ and Billee and I’ll show 
you what a good supper we can get.” 

All this appealed to the tired and hungry 
traveler, and in a short time she emerged from 
her home-made shower, much refreshed. She 
went about the little apartment exclaiming 
over the mysteries of the wall-bed, and the 
bureau which was attached to a revolving door 
so that it could be spun around out of sight 
in the closet. Between her tours of investiga¬ 
tion, she placed linen and dishes on the table, 
set out bread and butter, cream and sugar, and 
insisted upon making tea in the wonderful tea¬ 
pot of transparent glass. She managed to be 
very much in the way in the tiny kitchen where 
Billee broiled chops over one burner of the 
gas-plate while Fay daintily browned “ French 
fries ” over the other. 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


■ 74 

“Anybody would think that you had never 
seen an apartment before,” Fay laughed. 

“Well, I haven’t,” Cristel cheerfully ad¬ 
mitted. “ It’s like a little doll-house.” 

“ Norah would be shocked at the idea of 
canned peas, wouldn’t she? ” Dorothy apolo¬ 
gized, setting a steaming bowl of them on the 
table. “ But one can’t shell peas and 4 do San 
Francisco ’ at the same time.” 

“I’m crazy to begin ‘ doing San Francisco,’ ” 
Cristel rejoiced. 

They sat down to their informal repast, and 
the conversation turned to the doings of the 
day. There was a steady stream of talk until 
the last crumb of cake was cleared away, and 
the dishes were washed and put back into the 
cupboard. 

“And to-morrow,” Fay ended, after a long 
dissertation on the glories of an orchestra which 
had “dozens of violins alone!”—“To-mor¬ 
row, we’re going to see Nadia! ” 

The girls were eagerly looking forward to 
Nadia, the great Russian dancer. They had 
seen pictures of her, poised daintily on the tip 
of one toe, or leaping through the air like a 


FAY’S SECRET 


75 


winged creature. She had always seemed to 
them as some perfect being from another world, 
glimpsed occasionally by a favored few. That 
they were actually going to behold her was just 
one more incredible thing to be added to the 
other incredible experiences of the week. 

Next day Fay seemed even more excited 
than she had been on the night of the Sym¬ 
phony. She carried Nadia’s picture about 
with her and propped it up before her as she 
dressed. 

“ Just think, I’m going to see her in less 
than an hour,—Nadia! ” 

When they arrived at the theatre, the or¬ 
chestra was already filing into the pit, and 
they had only a few minutes in which to get 
to their seats and look about. They were in 
the balcony. Cristel and Billee could hardly 
be restrained from leaning over to gaze down 
on the jeweled ladies and their escorts below. 

“ Look at that man putting his silk hat on 
the seat next him,” giggled irrepressible Billee. 
“ Wouldn’t it be funny if some one sat on it! ” 

“ Sh-h-h-h,” admonished Cristel. “ I wish 


76 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


I could see their faces. Dorothy says there are 
lots of famous people here to-night/’ 

“ Well, you’re going to see Nadia soon,” 
answered Fay. “ That ought to be enough.” 

She relapsed into unusual quiet and scarcely 
took her eyes from the blue velvet curtain 
which concealed the stage. When the orches¬ 
tra suddenly ceased tuning and broke into a 
dainty polka, she uttered a little cry of delight 
and leaned forward eagerly. Billee laughed 
and gave her a hearty pinch, at which Fay 
bestowed upon her a withering glance and 
refused to speak to her for the rest of the 
evening. 

A bell rang somewhere in the wings, the 
conductor’s baton rapped loud through the 
sudden hush, and to the air of a well-known 
Swiss yodeling song, the curtains divided upon 
a quaint Alpine village. On the stage danced 
a group of youths and maidens in costume 
which matched their sprightly steps in gaiety. 
The sturdy hero and his mincing rival, the 
jigging old couple, the lightly tripping 
heroine,—they were all like figures of Dresden 
china, suddenly come to life. When the cur- 


FAY’S SECRET 


77 


tains closed on the final tableau, Fay clapped 
delightedly for some time, and then turned to 
bestow an impulsive hug upon her aunt, ac¬ 
companied by the rather doubtful compliment, 
“ If I should die to-morrow, I’d love you all 
my life for giving me this.” 

The curtains next swung open upon a cold, 
blue haze, so realistic that she shivered, much 
to Dorothy’s amusement, though even she had 
to admit the effectiveness of the white ground, 
the laden trees, and softly falling flakes. A 
long sigh in the music, like a gentle rising 
wind, and in scurried a bevy of tiny human 
“ flakes,” leaping, circling, and curveting like 
the feathery things they represented. Frolick¬ 
ing, playing, tiptoeing, they settled at last into 
a long white drift among the trees. The music 
stopped, and there was the complete silence of 
a real snowfall, for a long, thrilling moment. 

A spotlight focused itself on the side, the 
stillness became intense until broken by a 
triumphant blast from two silver bugles. A 
misty, snow-flecked curtain parted, and in 
danced Nadia herself, in a spangled white cos¬ 
tume that made one think of moonbeams danc- 


78 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


ing on a frozen drift. As usual, Dorothy en¬ 
joyed the perfect grace of every movement, 
from flying leap to gently swaying pose, but 
Fay’s rapture attracted her attention. Dor¬ 
othy wondered, and finally attributed Fay’s 
enthusiasm to her naturally artistic nature, 
and the novelty of it all. But Cristel’s mind 
went back to that evening when Fay had told 
her of her secret wish for something she could 
not have. She thought that she knew now 
what that wish was, and determined to find 
out if her conjectures were true. 

“ Fay,” she began, when back in their own 
room, they were still chattering excitedly about 
fairies and Dresden shepherdesses, “ if you had 
your choice, which would you rather be, a 
great violiniste, or a great dancer, like Nadia? ” 
Fay’s hair-brush paused in mid-air, and she 
turned to stare at her sister. “ How—how did 
you know? ” she asked. 

“ I didn’t know, I just guessed, from the 
way you acted to-night.” 

“ And does Aunt Dee know? ” 

“ I don’t think so, hut why do you make a 
secret of it, Fay? ” 



FAY’S SECRET 


79 


“ Because—well, you know what Daddy 
thinks about careers.” Her voice was husky. 

“ Goodness, Fay, do you want it that 
much? ” 

“ I want it more than anything else in all 
the world.” 

“ You said that about music, once.” 

“ Y r es, I love music, too. But I want to do 
more with it than to play, or just to sit and 
listen.” 

“ I know how you feel, dear. I’ve had my 
dream, too, for a long time.” 

“ You , Cris!” 

“ You never guessed, Fay? Aunt Dorothy 
and Billee did. I want to write.” 

Fay sat with her mouth and eyes wide open. 
Finally she asked, “And you would go against 
Daddy’s wishes? ” 

Cristel shook her head. “ We must try to 
win his approval. I think we should talk 
things over with him.” 

“ Yes—but I sha’n’t give up this dream for 
anybody ” Fay breathed, with a flash of de¬ 
termination in her eyes, and despite her smile 
of amusement, Cristel was a little awed. 


i 










CHAPTER VIII 

CHINATOWN AFTER DARK 

The city of San Francisco always fas¬ 
cinated Cristel. Every day of her week there 
was filled with delightful activity. There was 
a concert and a play, but she enjoyed them no 
more than the simple pastime of walking down 
Market Street, leisurely studying the big 
shops, watching the amazing flow of traffic and 
people. Even as she sat waiting in the ferry 
building, or in the lounge of the Emporium, 
she was conscious of some inner sense of satis¬ 
faction. Unlike Fay, who tended to dominate 
every situation in which she found herself, 
Cristel was quite content to stand by and 
observe. 

“ Cris,” began Dorothy, one afternoon to¬ 
ward the end of the week, “ Fay and Billee 
have gone to the park with Mrs. Crofton. The 
rest of the day is yours. How would you like 
dinner in Chinatown? ” 

“ I’d love it!” 


80 


CHINATOWN AFTER DARK 


81 


They went out, and after a little shopping 
in town, turned up Grant Avenue, whose 
gorgeous Oriental bazaars never failed to in¬ 
terest. 

“ I wish I were rich! ” Cristel sighed for the 
tenth time. They were passing windows full 
of bright kimonos and shawls, teak-wood furni¬ 
ture, quaint tea-sets, exotic ornaments of jade, 
amber, and carved ivory. They browsed 
through a little old book-shop set far back in 
the alley, while they munched queer candy of 
dried cocoanut and orange-peel. They wan¬ 
dered through Sing Fat’s for over an hour, 
coming out burdened with incense-burners, 
lucky Buddhas, and other Oriental baubles. 

“ Now let’s find a tea-room,” Dorothy sug¬ 
gested. “ I’m hungry enough to eat two help¬ 
ings of chow-mein an exaggeration of which 
Cristel was not fully aware until later. 

They climbed the stairs to an airy tea-room 
over one of the colorful bazaars. The slant¬ 
eyed head-waiter led them to a table near the 
window, where they could look out on the queer 
gargoyles and demons which ornamented the 
building across the street. 


82 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ Do you think you’d like chow-mein ? ” 
Dorothy asked, as Cristel frowned over a menu 
which was worse than Greek to her. “ It’s 
awfully good.” 

Cristel took her word for it, and ordered 
chow-mein and tea. Then, out of curiosity, she 
added water-chestnut salad, Chinese fruits, and 
rice-cakes. 

Dorothy tried to conceal a smile of amuse¬ 
ment, the purport of which Cristel readily un¬ 
derstood when the waiter set before each of 
them a deep bowl piled high with enough varie¬ 
gated food for several meals. She gasped, but 
immediately set about sampling the crisp wa¬ 
ter-chestnuts and investigating the mysteries of 
chow-mein . Every forkful seemed to bring up 
something different—now a bit of diced pork 
or ham, now some strange kind of sprout, now 
a mixture of noodles, onions, and chicken. It 
was like a journey of exploration, that bowl 
of chow-mein . Cristel disposed of nearly all 
of it, because it was “ awfully good.” She did 
not care for the water-chestnuts. They were 
too reminiscent of some spring medicine of 
early childhood, but she thoroughly enjoyed 



I 


CHINATOWN AFTER DARK 83 

the clear green tea, sipped out of tiny handle¬ 
less cups, and the crisp rice-cakes were as so 
much air, so quickly did they melt in one’s 
mouth. The Chinese fruits were served swim¬ 
ming in the insipid syrup in which they had 
been cooked. Cristel tried them gingerly with 
her two-pronged “ fork,” but found the sweet¬ 
ness galling, and so finished her meal with an¬ 
other tiny cup of tea. 

“I’d like to try all the funny things on the 
menu,” she said. “ I wonder how many taste 
as good as the chow-mein” 

“ Not very many,” Dorothy laughed, “ at 
least, not to an Occidental appetite.” 

They rose and threaded their way out 
through a crowd of tourists from a Round-the- 
World steamer which had docked that morn¬ 
ing. Grant Avenue was aglow with red and 
yellow and blue lights. The crowds were still 
surging up and down the narrow sidewalks. 
It was impossible to walk abreast, one or the 
other was continuously stepping back in order 
not to be jostled. 

No one could tell just how it happened, but 
Cristel preset!ty looked up from a window full 


84 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


of amber and jade to find that she was talking 
to a total stranger! The girl beside her giggled 
and walked on, and Cristel glanced quickly up 
and down the street only to discover that her 
aunt was nowhere in sight. She hurried ahead 
for a few blocks, and stopped. 

“ Must have dropped behind,” she rea¬ 
soned, still certain that a few moments would 
bring them together again. 

She walked back to the point where she had 
first missed her aunt, and then proceeding a 
block or two farther, turned and walked lei¬ 
surely back, but there was still no sign of Doro¬ 
thy. There were no familiar faces in any of 
the stores into which she wandered, but she re¬ 
mained calm and unruffled. Alone in China¬ 
town, after dark! It sounded adventuresome, 
but there was nothing appallingly dangerous 
in the good-natured crowd that jostled against 
her;—pajama-clad girls, many of them with 
chubby, almond-eyed babies toddling after 
them—were certainly not to be feared. Even 
the taciturn Celestials who flitted in and out of 
the dark alleyways looked too preoccupied to 
be harmful. 


CHINATOWN AFTER DARK 


85 


Cristel loitered up and down, first one side 
of the street, and then the other, until she was 
certain that Dorothy had gone on home and 
would be waiting for her. Mrs. Crofton’s was 
atop a familiar hill. Cristel decided that she 
would walk up Grant Avenue and turn toward 
the hill. She was sure that she could find her 
way home. She progressed as fast as she could 
in the crowd, still quite calm, her only worry 
being for possible uneasiness on the part of the 
others. Dorothy would be upset and anxious. 
She must hurry. 

The crowd thinned as she walked farther up 
the hill. The shops were small and unpreten¬ 
tious. She began to hasten past tiny stalls 
which obviously catered only to Chinese trade. 
Americanized Orientals were fewer here, too; 
placid-faced women with their hair parted in 
the middle and rolled in big disks over their 
ears took the place of the giggling young girls 
further down. There were vegetable stores 
and butcher-shops with all sorts of strange pro¬ 
duce set out. Cristel noticed that there were 
no white customers in these stores, and when 
she saw a great, repulsive-looking devil-fish 


86 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


dangling limp tentacles over a counter, she 
understood why. 

There were few white people, even, in the 
crowd now. She was conscious of surprised 
stares in her direction as she hurried on. The 
street grew narrow and dark, unpleasant odors 
began to assail her, but it was not until a grin¬ 
ning yellow face leered out of a dark doorway 
that she became at all startled. 

“ But I must come to the right street soon,” 
she conjectured, “ and then I’ll just turn off 
and hurry out of this dreadful neighborhood.” 

The next block was dark, and honeycombed 
with mysterious doors, narrow stairways, and 
alleys. Cristel was really nervous by this time, 
and she dared not pass another of those gliding 
shadows. Turning down a side street, she fled 
past dimly lighted buildings in which she could 
see groups of Chinese, smoking and playing 
Oriental games of chance. 

“ All streets lead to Market,” she parodied, 
knowing that she must eventually reach the 
main artery of San Francisco if she kept going. 

But this street was dark and deserted. A 
wide, office-lined thoroughfare attracted her, 


CHINATOWN AFTER DARK 


87 


and Cristel turned again, ignorant of the fact 
that another few blocks in the direction she 
had been going would have brought her to the 
ferry building, and car-lines to every point in 
the city. The pavements hurt her feet, accus¬ 
tomed as she was to trails and rough roads. 
She grew weary, but hurried steadily toward 
the aura of light which she knew was the inter¬ 
section of Market Street. A few stragglers 
stopped and stared, but she sped on, and at last 
heaved a sigh of relief. She was on Market 
Street. But what a sea of traffic and blinding 
light lay between her and the opposite side! 
Cristel had been in a big city but seldom. The 
streaming traffic and dazzling lights bewildered 
her. 

“ Oh, I can never, never get across,” she fret¬ 
ted, marveling at the courage of the women 
who dodged in and out between moving cars 
and automobiles. 

She stepped off the sidewalk, only to rush 
back again and repeat the procedure half a 
dozen times. She saw people smile amusedly. 
That was enough. She stepped off the curb 
again, and managed to dodge successfully half- 


88 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


way across the street. There, a moving line 
of street-cars stopped her, and for a moment 
she found herself in the narrow lane between 
two tracks, clanging cars grinding by behind 
her and before her. She began to feel dizzy 
and could not help imagining what would hap¬ 
pen if she should fall. In that instant, she was 
more terrified than she had ever been before. 
But she went ahead, dodging blindly now, her 
one object being to attain the safety of the 
sidewalk. She stepped up on the curb at last, 
almost upsetting a tall, blond young man who 
was striding past. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon! ” Cristel gasped. 

The tall young man smiled, raised his hat, 
and started to move away before she recognized 
him. 

“ Mr. Blake! ” But it was Billee’s voice, not 
Cristers. Billee had appeared out of the crowd 
and grasped his hand. “ Fm so glad I’ve 
found you again. We forgot to ask you where 
you lived,—why, Cristel! We’ve been hunting 
all over for you. Aunt Dee is nearly frantic.” 

Dorothy, who had been deserted by Billee, 
half a block away, now came hurrying up to 


CHINATOWN AFTER DARK 


89 


seize the lost one as though to make sure she 
would never get away again, and to shower in¬ 
coherent questions and exclamations upon her. 
Inexpressible relief was written on her face. 

“ We’ve been home and back, and up and 
down Grant Avenue half a dozen times! I had 
only the vaguest hope that we’d find you on 
Market Street. I’ve never had such a scare 
in all my life! I can’t imagine how I was care¬ 
less enough to lose you.” 

“ I’m sorry,” said Cristel. “ I was afraid 
you’d be worried. Somehow we got separated 
while I was looking in a window. But I’ve 
been all right, really,—until I started to cross 
Market Street. How do people ever get used 
to it? ” 

There were hurried explanations on both 
sides. Dorothy paled when she discovered 
where Cristel had wandered. 

“ I never dreamed that you would think of 
going up that way.—We must find Mrs. Crof- 
ton and Fay.” 

“ To tell them that the lost is found,” fin¬ 
ished Cristel, “ and that she explored darkest 
Chinatown, alone and unafraid, only to be 


90 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


scared out of her five senses at sight of a bellig¬ 
erent trolley-car.” 

During all this time, Mr. Blake had been 
standing back looking hesitantly from one face 
to another, while Billee held his fingers tight 
in her little brown fist. Cristel hastily made 
the necessary introductions. 

“ The man who rescued Billee,” she ended 
triumphantly. Now, Aunt Dorothy could see 
for herself that Mr. Blake was a man that one 
could trust. 

They seemed to look at each other an un¬ 
usually long time, but finally, Dorothy ex¬ 
tended her hand. “You seem always to be 
present at the moment when one of my nieces 
needs to be rescued,” she said, laughingly. 

“ I can’t claim any part in the rescue,” he 
replied, with a smile, “ though I most cer¬ 
tainly would have been glad to help, had I no¬ 
ticed the c belligerent street-car.’ ” 

With a gallantry that won them anew, he 
helped them into their taxi, and bowed himself 
away. Billee waved as the car drove off. 

“ Isn’t he nice? And isn’t it funny that we 
should run into him in San Francisco? 


CHINATOWN AFTER DARK 


91 


Oh!-” her mouth and eyes stood open fully 

a minute before she brought out, “ He for¬ 
got !” 

“ Forgot what? ” 

“ To tell us where he lived.” 

Dorothy laughed, but Billee thought she 
looked a little worried, too. Could it be pos¬ 
sible that she was still uneasy about those 
letters? 



CHAPTER IX 


DREAMS 

During those first few weeks after her visit 
to San Francisco, Fay spent much time posing 
in front of the mirror, and practising the dance 
steps that she could remember. 

“ I really ought to be taking lessons right 
now,” she sighed when Billie came in and dis¬ 
covered her poised on an upturned wash-basin, 
with a red, white, and blue Fourth of July horn 
held daintily between two fingers. 

But Billee laughed immoderately and told 
her that she looked more like a funny valentine 
than like Peter Pan, whereupon Fay consid¬ 
ered herself insulted, and went off to find solace 
in Cristel’s sympathy. Cristel was always 
sympathetic. 

“ Do you think Daddy would let me go to 
the city to study, Cris? ” she asked, after some 
discussion. 

“No, I don’t think he would. But perhaps 
he would allow you to take lessons from Miss 

92 



“I REALLY OUGHT TO BE TAKING LESSONS. ” — Page 92 . 










































m I 


DREAMS 


93 


Emmerling, the gym teacher out at school. She 
has studied dancing in New York and Europe, 
and knows nearly all there is to know about it.” 

“ That would do for a start,” condescended 
Fay, “and after I’ve learned how, maybe 
Daddy will see that it is my career. Will you 
come down and sort of help me explain? ” 

“ Yes, if you want me to. I’m afraid I can’t 
help very much, though.” 

This was not very encouraging, but now that 
Fay had the idea in her head, she was deter¬ 
mined to go on. 

“ Let’s tell him right now,” she suggested 
hopefully. “ Auntie has just been talking 
about Nadia, and maybe that will help.” 

They went down-stairs and entered the liv¬ 
ing-room quietly. The brother and sister were 
seated at the table discussing the news. Billee 
snuggled in a big armchair before the fire, 
poring over the sport page. When Mr. Thorn¬ 
ton looked up inquiringly, Cristel took it upon 
herself to begin. 

“Fay has something on her mind. She has 
decided that she wants to take dancing-les¬ 


sons. 


94 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

Dorothy laughed. “ Stick to your fiddle, 
Pussy Cat. Professor Steiner has high hopes 
for you.” 

Mr. Thornton smiled indulgently. “ The 
effect of seeing Nadia, I suppose.” 

“ I really mean it,” insisted Fay. “ I know 
I could dance if I had some one to teach me.” 

A few moments of tense quiet ticked away. 
Dorothy sat with eyes downcast, wondering if 
she had been responsible for what she thought 
a sudden whim on Fay’s part. It was with 
a feeling of relief that she heard her brother 
laugh, and saw him reach out to grasp Fay’s 
little white hand. 

“ Dancing is a nice accomplishment for a 
girl,” he said. “You might take a few lessons 
from Miss Emmerling and see how you like 
it.” 

He seemed to enjoy her obvious astonish¬ 
ment, and chuckled behind his paper as Fay 
tried to stammer out her thanks. Even Doro¬ 
thy looked amazed, but as usual, it was Billee 
who broke the tension. 

“ Say, what a terrible game! I could pitch 
better than that, myself! ” she asserted with all 


DREAMS 


95 


the disgust of a professional critic. She kicked 
the green sport page into the fire, and jumped 
up to romp with Terry. 

The door-bell rang, and Benny Ludlow 
came in to announce that they were having a 
“ crowd ” over at their house, and would Billee 
and Fay come over and play for them, and 
would Cristel come along, too? There would 
be sandwiches and a candy pull, and maybe 
dancing. Edgar was there, and Martha. 
Martha was superintending the candy making. 

“ Oh, we were going to make candy to-night, 
too,” Billee told him exuberantly, “ but it’ll be 
lots more fun to have a real party. I’ll take 
along some nuts.” 

After the two younger girls had gone, Doro¬ 
thy looked inquiringly toward Cristel. “ Fay 
and Billee seem to go out a lot,” she ventured. 
“ Why didn’t you go? ” 

“ I’m not in the mood for a party to-night. 
Fay and Billee go everywhere and always en¬ 
joy themselves, because they can do so much, 
help entertain, I mean. But I—I just ‘ go 
along, too.’ Goodness, I wish I could do some¬ 
thing to keep up the family reputation.” 



96 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

Dorothy studied her a moment, and then 
asked, with seeming irrelevance, “ Did you en¬ 
joy San Francisco very much? ” 

“You know I loved it! ” 

“ I suppose you have it all written up in the 
brown journal? ” 

“ Of course.” 

After a pause, “ Mayn’t I see it? ” 

“ Why, yes, if you want to.” 

“ Run and get it now.” 

Cristel left the room, and returning a few 
minutes later, handed the little brown book 
to her aunt. “ Dorothy,” she began, seating 
herself again, “ you said that you had a spe¬ 
cial reason for wanting to take me to San 
Francisco. Did you really? Won’t you tell 
me about it? ” 

Dorothy nodded. “ Yes, Cristel. It was 
this,” she said, tapping the brown journal. 

Cristel laughed incredulously, but Dorothy 
was reading absorbedly. Finally she looked 
up. “I think, Cristel,” she began with a slow 
smile, “ that some day you are going to do 
something to keep up the family reputation.” 

Mr. Thornton glanced up from his paper. 


DREAMS 


97 


“ You seem to take Cristel’s journal quite seri¬ 
ously, Dorothy.” 

“ It is worth taking seriously, Martin.” 

Cristel could hardly believe her ears. A 
funny little thrill ran through her and set her 
eyes beaming. It was not only Aunt Dorothy 
who was speaking; it was a professional lit¬ 
erary adviser. 

“ Have you thought any more about writ¬ 
ing? ” Dorothy went on. 

“ I’ve hardly dared to,” Cristel answered 
huskily. “ I love to write about things that I 
do and see, but that doesn’t mean I would he 
a success as a writer, does it? I—I’ve sent in 
several stories to the magazines, hut they were 
never printed.” 

“A-ah!” Dorothy shook her head disap¬ 
provingly. “Remember what I told you! 
Were they stories of knights and princesses in 
distress? ” she asked, with uncanny insight. 
“ I thought so. Best leave them to Tennyson 
and Scott, and stick to your journal until 
you’ve had enough practice for more ambitious 
things.” 

“ So you think that Cristel has a career be- 


98 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

fore her? ” Mr. Thornton queried, while the 
object of discussion sat listening incredulously. 

“ I wouldn’t go that far,” Dorothy replied 
guardedly, “ but she has talent.” 

He glanced at Cristel’s eager face. “ It’s a 
pretty big responsibility you’re taking, Doro¬ 
thy. Might it not be a forlorn hope that you 
are creating for her? ” 

Dorothy addressed her answer to her niece. 
“ Within reason, we can do what we want to 
do. You’ll have obstacles to overcome, Cris, 
but I think you will write, if you want to 
earnestly enough.” 

Cristel thought of Fay. Yes, Fay would 
overcome any obstacle that stood in her path. 
But she? She observed her father’s frown. 
He had disapproved of Dorothy’s going into 
business, but she had won him over by her own 
earnestness and ultimate success. Cristel won¬ 
dered if she would have the courage to do like¬ 
wise. Both she and her aunt looked toward 
him apprehensively as he rose, folded up his 
paper, and started toward his den. At the 
door he turned. 

“ Before you make up your mind to be a 


DREAMS 


99 


writer, Cristel, read the biographies of a few 
literary strugglers.” 

This sounded discouraging, but Cristel 
glanced toward her aunt, and saw a smile of 
triumph flit across her features. 


CHAPTER X 


CONCERNING A LETTER 

Fay took her first dancing-lesson from Miss 
Emmerling at four o’clock the following Fri¬ 
day. She came home glowing with enthusiasm, 
and demonstrated to a more or less admiring 
family all that she had learned,—the five posi¬ 
tions, balancing and bending exercises, leaps, 
and two steps of The Fairy Frolic . 

“ You do very well,” her father told her, not 
at all displeased. 

Fay hugged him impulsively. “ It’s because 
I love it, Daddy. And Miss Emmerling is go¬ 
ing to have a pageant some day, and I’m going 
to be in it. Miss Emmerling is quite famous 
for her pageants. She has given them in Lon¬ 
don and New York, and she says she thinks 
Lakrest would be an ideal place for a School 
of Pageantry.” 

“ I agree with her,” Mr. Thornton said, his 
expression a mixture of relief and pleased sur- 

100 


CONCERNING A LETTER 


101 


prise. “ And now, if you will set the table, 
Fay, we’ll see what arrangements we can make 
about further lessons with Miss Emmerling.” 

Fay sang as she set the table, not only be¬ 
cause she was happy, but because she actually 
liked that particular little task. She loved to 
have everything from salad forks to center- 
piece “ just so,” even when they were using 
the plain, everyday china, and in that respect, 
she believed in Miles Standish’s philosophy, 
“ When you want a thing well done, do it your¬ 
self.” She laid out spoons and forks and 
placed the water glasses precisely in line with 
the tip of the dinner knife, just as Mrs. Clem¬ 
ent had taught them all. Even Cristel some¬ 
times forgot this little detail, and as for Billee, 
she would as soon set a place left-handed as not. 

“ That’s one thing about Fay,” Cristel 
thought, 44 she does a thing thoroughly, when 
she’s interested in it.” 

Conversation that dinner-time was an excited 
babble about Fay’s dancing-lessons, and plans 
for Cristel’s graduation in June. Dinner over, 
Dorothy took Cristel’s hand and led her toward 
the door. 


102 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ Fay and Billee will clear the table,” she 
said, smiling winningly at those two. “ Cris 
and I are going to have a little conference.” 

They went up to Dorothy’s room, where 
Cristel touched a match to the pile of wood in 
the fireplace and pulled the shades to shut in 
the coziness. Dorothy settled herself snugly 
in a low chair before the fire, and Cristel took 
Patsy in her lap and curled up on the rug to 
begin the discussion of the problems of being 
seventeen. 

“I’ve been reading some literary biog¬ 
raphies,” she began, “ and I think that Dad 
must have suggested them on purpose to dis¬ 
courage me.” 

“ Are you discouraged? ” 

“ Not at ordinary obstacles, but at the one 
big obstacle.” 

“ Your father? ” 

“ Yes. I’m not like Fay. I wouldn’t be 
willing to sacrifice everything ” 

“ Well, don’t worry too much about that 
particular obstacle. Your father is not un¬ 
reasonable. ITe believes that every girl should 
be equipped with a means of livelihood, and 


CONCERNING A LETTER 


103 


he’ll have no objection to your studying with 
that end in view. Naturally, he wants you to 
be prepared for an emergency.” 

“Yes, but according to the biographies, lit¬ 
erary aspirations are not very practical in an 
emergency.” 

“No. You should have some other vocation 
to depend upon during the years it will take 
to get a start. How about the Lakrest 
Eagle? ” 

“ I thought of that, but there isn’t any 
chance for me. We don’t have enough hap¬ 
pening in Lakrest to keep even two people 
busy, and there are three on the Eagle staff.” 

Dorothy laughed. “We shall have to be¬ 
gin with something else, then. Get all the ex¬ 
perience you can; it doesn’t matter what. The 
more sides of life vou see, the better. You’ll 
often hear people say that before you can 
write, you must live, and it’s true, Cristel. 
Jekobi thinks that it is dishonest to write of a 
place you haven’t seen, or of an emotion you 
haven’t experienced. That’s a little too exact¬ 
ing, in my opinion, but every writer does his 
best work when he writes of what is familiar to 


104 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


him. So—as to what you’re going to do next 
fall, it doesn’t really matter.” 

Dorothy paused, but Cristel was too ab¬ 
sorbed to interrupt. She waited for her to go 
on. “ Have you read any of Aucar’s books? ” 
Dorothy asked suddenly. 

“ Yes, three of them. I love his nature de¬ 
scriptions.” 

“ That’s his strong point,” Dorothy nodded. 
“ He can almost make you smell the woods, or 
a field of new hav. I believe he’d be one of 
the outstanding writers of the day if he would 
strengthen his character portrayal. Just look 
at this sheaf of script from him. He uses five 
hundred words on the view, but gives us 
scarcely an inkling of the kind of man who was 
standing there looking at it. And after all, the 
view is not important to the story; the man is.” 

Cristel took the pages reverently. It was the 
first time that she had held in her hand the 
manuscript of an “ honest-to-goodness ” au¬ 
thor, the first time that she had heard Dorothy 
speak so intimately of her work. 

While Cristel read, Dorothy got up and 
rummaged through a pile of letters on her 



CONCERNING A LETTER 105 

desk. When she returned to her seat, a frown 
of worry clouded her face. 

“You know, Cris,” she said at last, “ I just 
happened to think that Mr. Aucar hasn’t ac¬ 
knowledged my last letter, and,” she did not 
finish, but became pensive again. 

A knock on the door startled her. “ Come 
in! she called, and Billee dashed in to an¬ 
nounce joyfully: 

“ Daddy and I took a walk down-town, and 
we saw Mr. Blake on a horse, and he waved to 
us. I think he must live around here some¬ 
where. Next time I see him, I’m going to ask 
him.” 

“ I wish you would! ” exclaimed Aunt Doro¬ 
thy so fervently that even Billee stopped her 
vigorous pantomime to stare at her. “ I was 
just thinking of your Mr. Blake, Billee.” 

“ You aren’t still worried about those let¬ 
ters? ” Billee inquired, almost indignantly, and 
Cristel studied her anxiously. 

“ Of course we met him very unconvention¬ 
ally,” she said, “ and it was foolish of me to 
hand over your mail to a perfect stranger. I 
was so sure that he was a gentleman, though.” 


106 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ And all the store people got their checks 
all right,” added Billee as a clinching argu¬ 
ment. “ Mr. Blake gave them to ’em himself.” 

“ Yes. It isn’t that,—only Mr. Aucar’s let¬ 
ter contained some valuable papers and a 
check, and he should have acknowledged it im¬ 
mediately. He hasn’t done so yet.” 

“ Oh,—you don’t really think that Mr. 
Blake is a man who couldn’t be trusted! ” 
Billee was truly hurt and shocked. 

“ No, of course not! ” 

“ It was a very foolish thing for me to do,” 
Cristel admitted. “ I wouldn’t think of hand¬ 
ing over your mail to a perfect stranger in San 
Francisco, why should I do so in Lakrest? ” 

Dorothy suddenly laughed. “ Don’t worry, 
dears. I’ll write again to Mr. Aucar. I’m 
sure he received the letter all right.” 

The others looked relieved. Of course Mr. 
Aucar could explain. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE LITTLE REBEL 

44 Isn't it ever going to stop raining? ” Fay 
crossed to the window to look out at the down¬ 
pour. The only sign of life in the almost de¬ 
serted street was the Naylor delivery wagon, 
going by with water glistening on its sides, 
rivulets streaming over the driver's hat-brim, 
sheets of rain pelting against the horse's damp 
hide. Cristel came up beside her sister to view 
the misty outlines of the forest against the dim, 
gray sky. 

44 1 think it's glorious," she enthused, 44 to 
look out at the storm and then turn back to the 
firelight.—I have to go to the post-office after 
a while. Will you have a cup of hot chocolate 
and some toast for me when I get back? " 

44 You’ll have to ask Auntie to get your choc¬ 
olate. I have a dancing-lesson at three." 

44 Nonsense, Fay. You can’t go out in this 
storm, with your sore throat." 

107 


108 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ It may stop raining. Whether it does or 
not, I have to go. It’s very important.” 

“Not important enough to risk your death 
of cold,” Cristel said firmly. “ Besides, you 
have loads of time to practise for the Charity 
Concert, if that’s what’s worrying you. Don’t 
be foolish, Fay.” 

“ Oh, why is every one so unreasonable to¬ 
day? ” pouted Fay, with a gleam of the rebel¬ 
lious spirit she had not shown for some time. 
“You and Aunt Dee,—I’m going to tell 
Father that I’m going,” she announced, a 
little haughtily. 

“ Do,” advised Cristel calmly. She was very 
sure that her father would agree with her own 
views as to Fay’s going out, and she did not 
in the least mind her sister’s occasional resent¬ 
ment of her authority. 

Slipping on her raincoat and rubbers, she 
stepped out into the storm, enjoying the blasts 
of moisture which blew in her face and the 
wind which whistled past her ears. An hour 
later, she was hurrying homeward. Half 
dreaming as she picked her way between the 
puddles in the street, she had very nearly col- 


THE LITTLE REBEL 


109 


lided with a very wet young person before she 
realized who it was. 

“Fay! And you with your dreadful cold,” 
she added accusingly. 

Fay’s eyes were hard and brilliant, her 
cheeks flushed. “ I don’t care! ” she cried, at¬ 
tempting to pass. 

Cristel seized her arm. “ Don’t be silly, 
Fay. Come home with me.” 

“ I won’t! I’m going to Miss Emmerling. 
She is the only one who appreciates me.” 

Cristel tightened her arm about her little sis¬ 
ter and gently turned her toward home. “ I’m 
sure Miss Emmerling appreciates you,” she 
said soothingly. “ But you’d better come home 
with me now, dear. You’re all wet, and you’re 
dreadfully hoarse. You mustn't catch any 
more cold.” 

Fay resisted and squirmed herself free. Her 
eves flashed. 

“ No! I sha’n’t go back.” 

She turned and dashed ahead a few steps, 
but faltered suddenly. Cristel reached her 
again and held her forcibly, while she hailed the 
highway bus. Fay did not resist, this time, 


110 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


and was easily lifted to a seat in the machine. 
The glittering eyes closed and the flushed little 
face dropped on Cristel’s shoulder. 

“ Oh, Cris, I’m sick. My head is simply 
bursting! ” 

The older girl ran caressing fingers over the 
hot forehead, and patted the flushed cheeks 
while she murmured comforting words. By 
the time that they reached Fay’s room, the erst¬ 
while rebel was very glad to be undressed and 
tucked away in bed. She lay back on the pil¬ 
low, her head throbbing, everything about her 
awhirl in a dizzy maelstrom. 

Dorothy hovered over her, pale and anxious, 
while Cristel telephoned for Dr. Brent, and 
tried to soothe her distracted father. Dr. 
Brent’s calmness helped to quiet the startled 
household, but his expression as he ministered 
to the patient was not reassuring. He was si¬ 
lent a long time before he finally turned to 
Dorothy. 

“ Scarlet fever,” he said abruptly. “ Have 
vou had it? ” 

“ Yes, and so has Cristel, but Billee hasn’t, 
and neither has Mr. Thornton.” 


THE LITTLE REBEL 


111 


He nodded gravely, and after a few more 
business-like questions, he ordered Mr. Thorn¬ 
ton and Billee to move immediately. “ Of 
course, they may stay here,” the doctor added, 
“ but they run a great risk, and as I must put 
the house under quarantine, it might prove 
inconvenient.” 

In such a short time may a smoothly running 
household, or even a smoothly running world 
be thrown into confusion. To the exiles, the 
knowledge that the fairy of the house lay 
moaning and delirious in a darkened room 
which they were not permitted to enter was 
almost unbearable. There were tears and 
many vain protests before they were at last 
persuaded that to move was the safest and 
wisest thing to do. Cristel promised to tele¬ 
phone every day, and keep them informed of 
the patient’s progress. 

Fay was dangerously ill. Even at the neigh¬ 
bor’s, where Billee and her father were staying, 
there hung a pall of fear. They waited for, 
yet dreaded the frequent tinkle of the tele¬ 
phone, lest Cristel’s quivering voice betray 
what she dared not tell in so many words. All 


112 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

Fay’s little vanities and tempests were forgot¬ 
ten now. They thought only of the gay little 
sprite who had flitted in and out of the house 
all day, pirouetting and dancing wherever she 
went, or of the dreamy-eyed girl whose singing 
violin had been known to bring tears to the 
eyes of even hardened old Mr. Eldone. 

In the darkened and almost deserted house, 
hour after hour dragged by while Fay tossed 
about and cried deliriously for her father. The 
memory of that last stormy interview seemed 
to be uppermost in her mind, and she craved 
his forgiveness and understanding. Fay, in 
her delirium, seemed to remember only that she 
had defied him. 

A long sad week spent itself at last. Both 
Dorothy and Cristel were heavy-eyed and pale 
from their constant vigil by the sick-bed. Now 
there was something akin to terror in their 
eyes, for Dr. Brent had told them that he was 
helpless to do more. Fay might not live the 
night through. Yet he forbade the others to 
see her, even now. 

She lay in a heavy stupor, her long lashes 
resting against fever-burned cheeks. She 


THE LITTLE REBEL 


118 


breathed heavily, and with great difficulty. 
Utterly spent, she had no strength to exert 
herself beyond a faint flutter of the lips. She 
was still trying to ask for something. 

Dr. Brent ordered Dorothy to lie down, and 
went away himself to snatch a few hours of 
sleep. Crist el was to call them if “ anything 
happened.” 

Leaden hours! Cristel held her finger on 
the faltering pulse. She dared not move her 
tear-inflamed eyes from the thin little face on 
the pillow. Midnight, and then one o’clock. 
The hourly chimes seemed like the peal of a 
death knell, and even the ticking of the clock 
on the bureau seemed to be counting off the 
seconds of a precious life. Another hour, and 
still no change. 

“ Oh, I can’t bear it,” Cristel sobbed. 

She glanced helplessly toward her aunt, but 
the tired watcher was sleeping the sleep of ex¬ 
haustion. When Cristel looked back at Fav, 
she was immediately aware of a change. The 
fiery spots that had burned in her cheeks for 
days were fading. She breathed more quietly, 
—then,—a slight toss of the golden head, a 


114 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

long, fluttering sigh, and she lay very still. 
Cristel uttered a frightened cry, and Dorothy 
was immediately beside her. 

“ Oh, Aunt Dee,” Cristel choked, and tum¬ 
bled forward on the bed, all her pent-up tears 
gushing forth in heart-breaking sobs. 

“ But Cristel, Cristel dear! Look, her eyes 
are open! ” 

There was a joyous ring in Aunt Dorothy’s 
voice that brought Cristel to immediately, and 
she looked up into Fay’s wondering blue eyes. 
A little white hand fluttered over to her, and 
the older sister grasped it convulsively. 

“ Fay, I thought you were-. Oh, Fay 

dear, say something!” 

“ I’m tired.” 

It was barely a whisper, but it was reassur¬ 
ing, and when Dr. Brent let himself in quietly, 
he found the two watchers radiant with joy. 
Fay had closed her eyes again, but she slept 
naturally and comfortably. She had passed 
the crisis safelv. It was almost certain that, 
with careful nursing, she would get well. 

But for a long time she was weak and ill, 
hardly able to raise her head from the pillow. 



THE LITTLE REBEL 


115 


She seemed to be in a daze, as though still 
haunted by memories of that mysterious land 
into which she had almost slipped away. Her 
first words as she groped her way back to fa¬ 
miliar surroundings were for her father: 

“ Did you tell Daddy I’m sorry? ” 

They showed her his notes for her, brimming 
over with affection and forgiveness, and she lay 
back, smiling happily. But frequently they 
w T ould come in after a brief absence and find 
her sobbing bitterly, or lying still with a be¬ 
wildered expression in her blue eyes. 

“ Can it be possible that she is still worried 
about her father? ” Dorothy wondered. 

When the bars of quarantine were lifted at 
last, and the exiles were permitted to return, 
the anxious father was the first to be admitted 
to the convalescent’s room. Fay’s eyes lighted 
when she saw him, and she held up her frail 
little arms. The two estranged were reunited. 

“ I’ve been waiting, oh so long for you to 
come. I’m sorry, Daddy.” 

“ And forgiven,” he added huskily. 

Fay turned her face to the pillow and 
sobbed. 


116 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ Why, Fay, what is it? You’ll be all right 
in a few weeks. Dr. Brent says there is no 
reason at all why you shouldn’t go on just the 
same as ever, after a good rest. What is it 
that worries you? ” 

She did not heed him. He talked on sooth¬ 
ingly for some minutes. At last she turned 
and looked up at him. 

“ It’s—so good—to hear your voice, Daddy. 
I thought I was never going to again. For 
ever and ever so many days, the world was all 
hushed. Everybody seemed like a ghost.” 

Mr. Thornton went white. Fay, little mu- 
sic-loving Fay, stricken deaf! She saw his 
horror, and smiled reassuringly. “ But I’m 
all right now. I woke up one morning, and the 
dreadful stillness was gone.” 

“ You—you didn’t tell any one this before? ” 

“ I couldn’t bear to. I’m really all right 
now, though,” she insisted gaily, “ all cured of 
everything, even tantrums. At least, I think 
I’m cured of ’em.” 

Mr. Thornton blinked, but he was smiling. 
He knew that Fay was better, but he knew also 
that she was closer to him than ever before. 





CHAPTER XII 


VACATION 

Winter lingers long in the Sierras, and 
there were still patches of snow among the 
rocks one day in early June when Cristel and 
her classmates gathered flowers for the school. 
However, the sunshine was warm and bright, 
and mountain daisies, buttercups, violets, and 
tiny starflowers poked their heads up through 
the new grass in defiance of the white patches 
among the crags. 

There were not many graduates at the Lak- 
rest School that year, but they all had looked 
forward with impatience to the gala day. Cris¬ 
tel was one of them. At home, she was the 
honored member of the household. Dorothy 
had sent to New York for the sheer white or¬ 
gandy dress to be worn on the great occasion. 
Fay, now quite herself again, was helping with 
the dainty underthings to go with it. Billee 
got out her crochet needle to make “ trim- 

117 


118 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


min’s/’ she didn’t quite know for what, but 
hoped they would be useful for some part of 
the Commencement wardrobe. 

Cristel and her classmates spent hours clam¬ 
bering up and down steep trails, venturing into 
dark woods, and risking life and limb hanging 
over sheer precipices to pluck wild flowers and 
ferns. As a result, the school hall was a bower 
of color and fragrance when families and 
friends began to assemble for the closing exer¬ 
cises of the year. They were simple, but more 
impressive than many affairs of larger, and 
more elaborate proportions. 

Billee Thornton played the march from 
Aida with her usual vigor, and the graduates 
filed solemnly down the middle aisle to their 
places of honor upon the stage. There was a 
moment’s hush, and then Mr. Sutherland rose 
to extend the usual welcome to parents and 
friends, and to present the members of the 
class of 19—. 

Cristel thought he was very wonderful as he 
stood there and talked about “ life’s pathway,” 
and “ budding youth,” and “ the shining fu¬ 
ture.” It gave her a little thrill of pride to 



VACATION 


119 


think that this man from the big world outside 
Lakrest had often praised her work. She was 
glad that she had achieved a scholarly record. 
That was something, even if Dorothy’s predic¬ 
tions should not turn out to be true. 

Billee and Fay came forward now and 
played the much-practised concerto, and Bee¬ 
thoven’s Minuet. All Lakrest beamed with 
pride as the little golden-haired violiniste gra¬ 
ciously acknowledged the applause and played 
an intricate little pizzicato dance for an encore. 
How well she played that, and how she seemed 
to enjoy it! She bowed and smiled again and 
again, in response to the clapping hands. Cris- 
tel began to visualize a future in which this 
little sister would smile and bow thus before 
the plaudits of thousands. Yes she was glad 
she had made a good scholarship record. That 
was the least she could do. 

There was singing, and a piano duet by two 
of the graduates. Years afterward, Cristel 
could look back and see it all again,—the room 
—full of faces (what a throng it seemed that 
day!) —the loving smile on Father’s face,—that 
impish wink of Billee’s just as the name “ Cris- 




120 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


tel Thornton” was read, and she stepped for¬ 
ward to receive that much-prized bit of paper, 
her diploma. She even remembered the white 
satin polka dots on Ruth Haven’s hair-band, 
and her own solicitous care lest her crisp or¬ 
gandy frock be crushed. 

But ceremonies which involve months of 
preparation are soon over, and hardly had the 
engraved diploma been passed from hand to 
hand at home, and the organdy frock put away 
for “ Sunday best,” when Commencement talk 
ceased, and everybody began to make eager 
plans for the summer vacation. 

Much to Fay’s disappointment, Miss Stef¬ 
fens did not marry Mr. Sutherland, but left 
Lakrest to be wedded to some one else at her 
sister’s home in Honolulu. And of course Fay 
could hardly go to Honolulu even for the honor 
of being flower girl at her teacher’s wedding. 
At any rate, Fay had been doing a great deal 
of “ growing up,” especially since her illness. 
She could even smile at the memory of that 
little maiden who had longed to be a flower 
girl. 

Summers at Lakrest were always full of fun 


VACATION 


121 


and adventure. Everybody climbed the moun¬ 
tain trails, fished in clear streams, swam and 
rowed about the lake, and finished the summer 
tanned and freckled. Billee was rescued the 
usual number of times by members of the fam¬ 
ily or others who happened to be conveniently 
near when she chose to fall over a precipice, 
or explore the bottom of a lake. This summer, 
in a fit of inspiration, she used up all her school 
paints on a picture of “ Sunrise Over Lake 
Tahoe,” done in tones of violent red, yellow, 
and purple. Fay wrote a poem on the same 
subject, in which she supplied all the remain¬ 
ing colors of the rainbow, but she spent most 
of her spare moments skipping about the woods 
like a young dryad, mocking the birds, decking 
herself with garlands, and posing beside pools 
and streams. Crist el took long walks with 
Terry, or explored new trails with venturesome 
Billee, studying the flowers and butterflies. 
Sometimes she went with the older girls, swim¬ 
ming and boating, or seeking new adventures 
to write in her brown journal, along with a 
prose version of “ Sunrise at Lake Tahoe.” 

The camp at Lake Tahoe had been a sug- 


122 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


gestion of Aunt Dorothy’s. When the illness 
of a relative took Norah away for an indefinite 
period, just at the beginning of Mr. Thorn¬ 
ton’s vacation, Dorothy’s suggestion of a camp¬ 
ing trip to Lake Tahoe was a delightful solu¬ 
tion to the problems that arose. 

The week just before Norah left was one of 
great bustle and confusion. The pets must be 
provided for, tent and bedding had to be resur¬ 
rected from their winter storing-place, to be 
aired, rolled up, and strapped to the running- 
board of the machine. Provisions must be 
packed carefully in the chest behind, pans and 
kettles, too, for Norah insisted that if her 
charges must “ live like haythens in the wilder¬ 
ness,” they should be made as comfortable as 
possible. 

Everything was ready at last. Norah stood 
on the steps to wave them good-by. Mr. 
Thornton had promised that one of the girls 
should drive up, but Dorothy, being more used 
to city traffic than to narrow mountain roads, 
was nothing loth to let Cristel have the wheel. 
As the machine turned out through the gate 
into Main Street, they all settled back with a 


VACATION 


123 


feeling of security and a sigh of anticipation 
for the joys to come. 

They stopped in town to stock up on films 
and sunburn lotion, and to see what the mail¬ 
box had for them. As usual, it was a pile of 
mail for Aunt Dorothy. Leaving the others 
to wave the last good-by as they sped over the 
bridge toward the highway, Dorothy glanced 
through one letter after another. Only one 
did she examine closely, and finally tossed it 
into Cristel’s lap. It was a note from Mr. 
Aucar’s lawyer, stating that that gentleman 
was away on one of his periodical jaunts in 
search of local color, and that all his mail was 
being held for him, at his request. 

“We have several letters from his pub¬ 
lishers,” the communication ended, “ but as 
they are being held, unopened, we suggest that 
any message of immediate importance be ad¬ 
dressed to us, personally.” 

“ Just shows that you may as well stop wor¬ 
rying about Mr. Blake. The missing letter is 
probably reposing in the offices of Dixon and 
Wise.” 

“ I knew he was all right,” Billee triumphed. 


124 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ I don’t think that I really mistrusted him, 
dear,” Cristel said soothingly. “ It was just 
my natural wariness of strangers.” 

They were spinning over a crooked road 
now, and each curve brought into view wonder¬ 
ful vistas of forested mountain and green val¬ 
ley. Dorothy laid her mail aside to enjoy it 
with the others. Occasionally they caught the 
flash of a mountain stream tinkling along be¬ 
side the road, or the gleam of a lake set among 
a fringe of pines. Here everything was still 
green and fresh; there were patches of snow 
in the higher clefts. 

Cristel was a good driver, and more than 
once, the city-bred woman at her side mar¬ 
veled as she guided the machine around hairpin 
curves, up sudden grades, and across railroad 
tracks hidden from view by snow-sheds. 

Snow-sheds are roofed-over shelters, some¬ 
times miles long, built over the railroad to keep 
the tracks clear of snow during the winter. 
They serve a good purpose, but do not render 
railroad crossings particularly safe. When the 
road runs through one of these sheds, all that 
one sees is a dark opening through which he 


VACATION 


125 


must pass. The tracks, and any train that 
might be racing over them, are completely hid¬ 
den from view. 

Everybody became tense at view of a shed- 
ded crossing, and breathed a sigh of relief after 
it was passed.—They reached Donner Lake in 
time for luncheon, and ate there at a little table 
overlooking the shore where merrymakers 
splashed about in the clear water, unmindful 
of the tragedy of the Donner pioneers. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE CAMP AT LAKE TAHOE 

The miles ahead to Tahoe were lonesome 
ones, but Cristel at the wheel was glad that 
they had the narrow road to themselves. The 
silence of the forest was broken only occasion¬ 
ally by the whirr of another machine, or by a 
hearty hail from some intrepid hiker, striding 
along with his blanket-roll strapped to his back. 
Once, a caravan of pack-mules appeared 
around a bend, took fright, and vainly tried to 
climb a sheer precipice as Cristel slowly edged 
the machine past them. 

It was late afternoon when they reached 
Tahoe City, and Billee proudly escorted Aunt 
Dorothy to a propitious spot for her first 
glimpse of that wondrous lake whose sapphire 
blue waters stretch for miles to the borders of 
another state. And Aunt Dorothy being prop¬ 
erly impressed, they took to the machine again 
and proceeded along the shore drive, past 

126 


THE CAMP AT LAKE TAHOE 127 

camps and villages, until they came to a lonely 
hut. 

“ There is smoke coming from the chimney,” 
Cristel observed. “ Can you imagine any one 
living so far away from any sign of hu¬ 
manity? ” 

“ Don’t you call the road a sign of hu¬ 
manity? ” her father challenged. 

“ That probably explains the existence of 
the hut,” Dorothy added. “ Let’s go in and 
see what they have.” 

An old woman answered their summons, and 
promptly invited them into a tiny room filled 
with pine-cone souvenirs and post-cards. 

“ You looking for a place to camp? ” she in¬ 
quired as she served them cooling draughts of 
spring water. 

“ We’re just going to stop somewhere along 
shore, not too close to the resorts.” 

“ Why don’t you camp here? ” the woman 
asked eagerly, waving her arm in the direction 
of the lake. “ There’s a clearing down there 
right next the water, half a mile from the road, 
and yet not too lonesome. There’s wood and 
spring water, and Lake Tahoe for your front 


128 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


yard. And my man’ll help you with the tent 
and heavy work.” 

Billee’s eyes grew round, and even Cristel’s 
regarded her father with wistful inquiry; but 
they waited for his decision. 

“ You won’t be too lonesome? ” Mr. Thorn¬ 
ton asked, with an obvious twinkle in his eye. 
“ This looks even wilder than the place I had 
in mind.” 

“ The wilder, the better,” Dorothy promptly 
assured him, and won the everlasting gratitude 
of the younger Thorntons. 

He gave his assent and the woman immedi¬ 
ately called her husband, an aged ex-forester, 
still stalwart and straight, despite his eighty 
years. With Mr. Lynn to show the way, Mr. 
Thornton took the wheel and carefully guided 
the machine in and out among the trees and 
brush to the clearing beside the lake. 

They left the machine behind a screen of 
foliage and exuberantly set about taking pos¬ 
session of the clearing. It was an ideal spot, 
with the blue waters of Lake Tahoe stretching 
far toward the horizon, a clean-washed pebble 
beach before them, and low-branched pines 


THE CAMP AT LAKE TAHOE 129 


shutting in their little domain and giving at 
once a sense of privacy and coziness. 

Aunt Dorothy surprised everybody with her 
adept skill at driving pegs and handling ropes 
and canvas. “You seem to forget that I spent 
five summers at a girls’ camp in Maine,” she 
laughed, happy to show them that she could 
do a few things other than reading manu¬ 
scripts. 

In no time the tent was up, a fire crackling, 
and the odor of coffee and broiling steaks as¬ 
sailed their already keen appetites. With Mr. 
and Mrs. Lynn as honored guests, they sat 
down to their hearty repast, not too hungry 
to enjoy the transformation of Lake Tahoe 
from liquid sapphire to molten gold, amethyst, 
and silver. The moon had risen before they 
left the table and grouped themselves about the 
dying fire to hear Mr. Lynn’s thrilling tales of 
adventure. 

But even the cheery blaze of the fire could 
not long offset the chill night air that creeps 
up after dark in the mountains. The Lynns 
said their good-nights and started back over 
the half-mile of woods to their hut by the 


130 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


roadside, and the girls set about the business 
of clearing up and making ready for bed. All 
except Fay rather envied Mr. Thornton, who 
took his blanket-roll off into a little grove 
near by, and prepared to sleep with the sky as 
his roof. 

It was next morning’s sunrise which sent 
Fay into poetic rhapsodies, and caused the raid 
on Billee’s school paints, and Cristel’s supply 
of adjectives. But perhaps Billee’s splashes 
of vivid paint would better portray that orgy 
of color than any mere words could do. No 
one has ever done justice to the miracle of sun¬ 
rise over Lake Tahoe. 

The process of getting breakfast was too 
prosaic a performance to interrupt such a dis¬ 
play, and so Old Sol was well above the hori¬ 
zon before the kettle began to steam, and the 
bacon began to splutter and call the inspired 
onlookers back to the grossness of mere hunger. 

Shut away from the world though they were, 
they found plenty to do. There were myriads 
of birds, chipmunks, and other little wild folk 
to get acquainted with; there were tiny lake 


THE CAMP AT LAKE TAHOE 


131 


trout that liked crackers and were tame enough 
to come close to shore in quest of them. There 
was the Lynn rowboat to tempt the campers 
far out on the lake, despite legends of bottom¬ 
less pits whose suction would draw unwary 
boatmen from the surface. 

“ But it is true that in parts of the lake, the 
bottom has never been plumbed,” Mr. Thorn¬ 
ton told them while they drifted toward shore 
to allow Crist el to dive off. “ Tahoe is said 
to be the crater of an extinct volcano, and it 
harbors all sorts of mysteries in its depths.” 

“ Such as the mystery of its blueness,” mur¬ 
mured Dorothy softly, indicating the pale blue 
crystal drops which fell from the oars. 

By noon the sun was making unnecessary 
exertion an effort, and so, after a luncheon of 
crisp, cool salad, they all found shady spots in 
which to rest. Cristel became absorbed in the 
autobiography of a favorite author, while 
Dorothy sat gazing dreamily out over the 
water. 

“What is it that amuses you so highly?” 
Dorothy asked, after Cristel’s chuckle had 
broken in on her revery a number of times. 


132 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

“ You ought to read what this man thinks 
about you critics,” Cristel answered, quickly. 

Dorothy’s dimples flashed. “ I have read 
it,” she said, “ and there’s a more modern au¬ 
thor who thinks the same, or worse. At least 
he does of me.” 

Cristel looked puzzled. “ Oh,” she said 
finally, “ you mean Bradley Aucar.” 

Dorothy nodded, and Cristel regarded her 
silently for a moment. “ I wonder what he 
would think if he could see you,” she hazarded. 
“You certainly don’t look like a seasoned busi¬ 
ness woman, Auntie.” When Dorothy twin¬ 
kled like that, she reminded Cristel of the way 
Billee looked after she had done something 
particularly naughty, and enjoyed herself 
hugely in the doing of it. 

She did not voice this thought, however, for 
she had seen Aunt Dorothy behind her manu¬ 
script-littered desk, and despite the dimples 
and saucy nose, Cristel held her in awe. Doro¬ 
thy had been a constant unfolding of sur¬ 
prises since the day she had flashed her first 
smile of greeting. Cristel beheld in her more 
than the pretty sister of her father. To her, 


THE CAMP AT LAKE TAHOE 133 


Dorothy was the incarnation of success, for she 
had overcome many obstacles. Under her 
influence, Cristel felt a growing sense of faith 
in herself. She could fight as others had 
fought,—as Aunt Dorothy had fought. Some 
day, she would win! 



CHAPTER XIV 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 

“ I wish something exciting would happen,” 
yawned Billee. She and Cristel had had their 
ice-cold dip in the lake some hours ago, and 
were whiling away a hot afternoon feeding the 
trout. “ It’s been an awfully tiresome day.” 

“We haven’t had many adventures this 
summer, have we?” Cristel agreed. “ I wish 
we could do something a little different from 
the usual.” 

Billee sat up, her face alight with inspira¬ 
tion. “ Tell you what! ” she beamed. “ Let’s 
take our cots outdoors and sleep under the 
stars to-night! ” 

“ That would be fun,” Cristel agreed imme¬ 
diately. “Just we two; it wouldn’t be any 
adventure if we had too much company.” 

“ Let’s go out in the woods and find a place 
to put our cots,” Billee enthused, and promptly 
disappeared among the trees. 

134 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 135 

After some discussion, they selected a place 
within sight of the camp, but far enough away 
to give them a sense of isolation. 

“ Daddy would never let us sleep out any 
farther away,” Cristel offered as a final argu¬ 
ment, for Billee preferred a little hollow some 
distance off, out of sight of any sign of 
civilization. 

Amid much laughter and excitement, they 
moved the two cots out into the grove, and 
had them all made up, hours before bedtime. 

They had their usual camp-fire that night, 
with stories and songs, and Fay’s violin play¬ 
ing Indian melodies. But the fire died down 
at last, and Father performed the final cere¬ 
mony of throwing earth on the embers. 

“ Still determined to sleep outdoors? ” he 
asked, when the blackness of night enclosed 
them, and there was no cheery glow to offset it. 

Cristel looked toward the edge of the dark 
grove where their cots were awaiting them, and 
shivered a little, but she answered readily, “ Of 
course! ” 

Good-nights were said. It seemed suddenly 
very dark and lonely, but Billee and Cristel 


136 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


grasped hands and sped toward the grove. 
Their woodland dressing-room had all the 
privacy that could be desired, and it was airy, 
and odorous of pine. 

“ It’s going to be fun,” Cristel laughed ex¬ 
citedly, “ though I did feel just the least bit 
scary when Dad put out the fire, and it seemed 
to get so dark all of a sudden.” 

Their cots were set close together. They 
kept on talking for a long time while the woods 
grew dark and silent. Billee’s voice became 
drowsy eventually, and she dropped off to sleep 
in the middle of a sentence. Cristel lay awake, 
listening to the night sounds, the stir of the 
foliage, the screech of an owl in the distance, 
the flutter of a bird in his nest above them. 
She looked up at the clear, star-pricked sky. 
The Milky Way stretched across like a long, 
filmy cloud through which the brighter stars 
shone as through a veil. Cristel had never seen 
so many stars before. There seemed scarcely 
room for a bit of dark blue sky to peep 
through. Drowsiness finally overcame her, and 
she slipped off to sleep. 

She was suddenly awakened by Billee’s fist 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 137 

descending on her face, none too gently. 
“ Gracious! What are you trying to do, an¬ 
nihilate me? ” Cristel protested, fully awake. 

“ No, not you, just a bug.” 

Cristel could only laugh, and after she had 
called Billee’s attention to the riot of stars in 
the sky, she began to doze again. Again Billee 
awakened her. This time, she was sitting up 
in bed. 

“ What’s the matter? ” drowsily. 

Billee sank back. “ I thought I heard 
something.” 

“ It was the wind.” 

But the silence was shortly broken by a 
distinct rustling among the leaves. A twig 
snapped, there was a soft swish among the low 
foliage, and something had darted by, close to 
their cots. Cristel smothered a shriek and sat 
up, but the prowler had disappeared. 

“ O dear, what do you suppose it was? ” she 
quavered. 

“ Somebody’s dog,” Billee answered calmly. 

“ But there isn’t any other camp near us, 
and the Lynns have no dog.” 

Billee was already asleep, and did not hear. 


138 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


Cristel was too tired to be very much fright¬ 
ened, and she slept again. 

A warm, rosy dawn lighted the sky when she 
awoke. Smoke was already streaming from 
the camp-fire, and she sat up to stretch her 
arms 'and draw in deep breaths of the piny 
air. A bit of folded paper lay on her pillow. 
Mystified, she opened it. 

“ Glad you had a pleasant night. Found 
you sound asleep when I peeped at you this 
morning. Better get up as soon as you 
awaken. You and I are going exploring to¬ 
day. 

“Aunt Dee.” 

“Dear Aunt Dee! I wonder if she wor¬ 
ried about us.” 

Cristel awakened Billee, and the two shortly 
afterward made their appearance in the clear¬ 
ing. 

“ Have a nice night? ” called Father cheer¬ 
fully. 

“Wonderful!” announced Cristel, for now 
their nocturnal visitor seemed as though it had 
been a dream. 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 139 

Mr. Thornton’s expression was quizzical. 
“ Nothing happened? ” 

“ Oh, we did have a little scare. Something 
brushed by. Did you hear it, too? ” 

“ Yes, a deer, most likely.” 

“ Weren’t you scared to death? ” gasped 
Fay, saucer-eyed, “ out there alone together in 
the dark.” 

“ That’s just why we were not scared, I sup¬ 
pose. We were ‘ alone together / ” laughed 
Cristel. 

Her description of the starry night offset 
further conjectures as to the nature of the 
midnight prowler. The beauty of the sky had 
impressed her more. 

“ I believe I’ll sleep outdoors to-night,” 
Aunt Dorothy decided, as they sat down to 
camp pancakes with butter and syrup. 

“ And leave me all alone! ” squealed Fay. 

“No, dear. Cristel will stay with you, and 
Billee will keep me company.” 

“ I’ll find a spot within hearing of both 
camps,” Father added, and everybody ac¬ 
quiesced to the arrangement. Seasoned 
campers though they were, the prospect of a 


140 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


second visit from the unknown prowler was not 
without its thrills. 

After breakfast, Cristel and Dorothy waved 
to the others who were slipping out over the 
lake in the rowboat, and turned toward the 
hut. A particularly wild-looking spot across 
the road had attracted Aunt Dorothy, and she 
wanted to get some pictures of it. 

“ Let’s stop and say ‘ Hello ’ to the Lynns,” 
she suggested, “ and then we’ll have a long, 
glorious morning to explore.” 

They found Mr. Lynn in back of the little 
hut, absorbed in the task of oiling a gun. 

“ You’re not preparing to shoot our nice 
little deer, are you? ” called Cristel, as they 
approached. 

He looked up, apparently startled. 
“ Deer? ” he queried, rising to greet them. 
“ Have you seen the deer? They haven’t been 
around for a long time.” 

“ We haven’t seen any, but something ran 
by our camp last night, and Dad thinks it 
must have been a deer.” 

“ Maybe so,” nodded old Mr. Lynn, waving 
them to a seat on a fallen tree-trunk. “ I 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 141 

should have told you they might take a notion 
to visit you, but I thought you were too far 
from their runway to hear them.” 

“ Their runway? ” 

“ Yes.” Mr. Lynn continued to polish his 
gun-barrel vigorously while he talked. “ They 
go down to the lake to drink, but their trail is 
some distance from your camp. There’s a doe 
and her fawn. We call the little fellow ‘ Peter 
Pan.’ You’re likely to see the two of them 
trailing down to the lake at night, even if you 
don’t catch sight of them during the day.” 

“ I hope we do see them,” beamed Cristel. 
“ How pretty they must be! There was only 
one last night, though,” she ended. 

“ Only one? ” Mr. Lynn’s hand paused in 
the middle of the barrel. 

“ Yes, judging from the sound.” 

“ What sort of sound? ” 

“ Oh-h, just a swift rustling, and the snap 
of a twig now and then.” 

“ Couldn’t you make out the click of hoofs 
on the turf? ” 

“ No, I don’t think I noticed that particu¬ 
larly.” 


142 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


Mr. Lynn slowly resumed his polishing, re¬ 
maining very pensive until the girls rose to go. 
“ I’m glad that you’re not getting that gun 
ready for them,” Cristel laughed. “ I was 
afraid you had your mind intent on venison for 
dinner.” 

“Not I, but there may be another hunter 
about who has a fancy for venison steaks.” 
Mr. Lynn spoke lightly, but Cristel was a 
little alarmed at his words. “ Better keep to 
the road,” he called as they started off. 


CHAPTER XV 


MR. LYNN KEEPS UP HIS REPUTATION 

“ He doesn’t know that we live on the edge 
of the woods all the year round,” remarked 
Cristel reassuringly, though she had her own 
qualms when they turned off the road to fol¬ 
low a slightly marked trail. 

“ In spite of all he said, I’m a little worried 
about the deer,” Dorothy asserted. “ Mr. 
Lynn was a great hunter in his day, and that 
gun certainly looked as though it were ready 
to do business.—Look, Cris, there’s a tiny 
hoof-mark. Do you suppose this can be the 
deer-trail? ” 

“ That’s just what it is,” Cristel answered. 
“ Maybe we’ll catch a glimpse of them. There 
ought to be a good view from the top of this 
knoll; you can get a picture of the lake.” 

“And I’d love to have one of the deer. Do 
you suppose we’ll meet them? ” 

“We may, if we’re careful.” 

But they reached the top of the knoll with- 

143 


144 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

out encountering anything larger than a chip¬ 
munk, and seated themselves under a tall pine 
to look out over the tree-tops and shining 
water. 

“ You can even see Emerald Bay,” Cristel 
observed, waving toward the right, where the 
lake suddenly narrowed to a rounded cove as 
green as the gem which had given it its name. 

“ Lovely,” marveled Aunt Dorothy. “ It’s 
like a huge, exotic jewel,—a great sapphire, 
with a tiny emerald on one side.” 

They sat for a long time, absorbing the 
beauty spread out below them, enjoying the 
woodland solitude, while off in the distance 
they could see the smoke from scattered 
camps, or watch a lake steamer scuttling 
across the blue water like a tiny beetle. A 
slight breeze whispered through the branches 
above them, there was a drone of insects in 
the sunny air. It seemed a sin to break the 
spell of peace and solitude, but hours had flown 
since they had left camp. They must return 
before the others would become anxious. 
Dorothy took her pictures, and they started 
back along the almost imperceptible trail. 


MR. LYNN’S REPUTATION 


145 


“ I wish we could catch sight of the deer,” 
she said, just as Cristel suddenly stopped and 
laid a hand upon her arm. 

“ Listen!” 

From below them came the sound of bound¬ 
ing pebbles loosened by ascending footsteps. 

“ Behind that big rock, just below. If we 
go down very quietly, we may see them.” 

The trail was slippery, however, and it was 
impossible to go quietly. Just as they reached 
the rock, there was a clatter of slipping shale, 
and they caught only a glimpse of a brownish- 
yellow body, streaking off into the foliage. 

“ He was hiding right behind this rock,” 
declared Dorothy, peeping over. 

Cristel was very quiet while they found their 
way down to the road. She made no comment 
when Dorothy went on. “ I didn’t know that 
a deer could slink off so fast.” Cristel knew 
that deer did not slink; and that hasty glance 
had shown her something yellow and sinuous. 
She thought of Mr. Lynn and his gun, of his 
remark about the other hunter who might have 
a fancy for venison steaks. It was a relief to 
reach the road again. 


146 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


While Dorothy took a few moments to speak 
with Mrs. Lynn, Cristel drew the old forester 
aside and told him of their experience. 

“ It was too yellow to be a deer,” she ended. 
“ It was either a fox, or—a mountain lion.” 

His keen eyes never left her face as she 
talked. He nodded significantly. “ I’ve seen 
that streak o’ yaller, too,” he said. “ The deer 
have attracted him. He’s too wary to catch 
with a rope, even if there were enough men 
to do the job. I’m going after him before he 
gets back to his watch beside the deer-trail.” 

“ Then it is a cougar? ” 

He did not answer. 

“ Don’t you think I ought to tell the others? 
Is it safe to go on camping where we are? ” 

“ Mr. Cougar won’t bother you, ’s long as 
you don’t have any fresh meat lyin’ about. I 
don’t know as it’s necessary to alarm the rest 
of the camp. You’re perfectly safe.” 

“ But Aunt Dorothy was going to sleep out 
in the grove to-night. Mightn’t the lion follow 
the deer-trail to the lake, as he did last night? ” 
“ He might have, last night, but I don’t 
think he will again.” The old forester turned 


MR. LYNN’S REPUTATION 


147 


toward the hut, and a moment later Cristel 
saw him disappear in the brush, gun in hand. 
She almost wished that she hadn’t told him. 
What if he should be hurt? What if he should 
only succeed in wounding the tougar? All 
the stories of injuries inflicted by wounded 
beasts flamed through her mind. Despite Mr. 
Lynn’s fame as a hunter, Cristel felt that she 
must tell some one what he was about. 

“ Hurry, Aunt Dorothy,” she said, starting 
suddenly off toward camp. “ Father may be 
worried.” 

They were half-way to the camp when 
Dorothy stopped with a little cry of admira¬ 
tion. “ Look, Cristel! ” 

In a sunny spot only a few yards away, 
stood the doe and her fawn, gracefully alert, 
gazing at them with great brown eyes. Doro¬ 
thy’s camera clicked busily. She had run off 
several shots of the lovely pair before the doe 
threw back her arched neck and led her fawn 
off into the woods. 

“ Mr. Lynn has them half-tamed,” Dorothy 
smiled. “ I wonder if he has ever seen the 
wild one we came across this morning? ” 


148 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ He probably has,” nodded Cristel, but her 
conscience twinged. How could she tell Aunt 
Dorothy her suspicions and spoil the antici¬ 
pated night out under the stars? And on the 
other hand, how could she let her sleep out in 
the grove, without telling her? A ringing shot 
halted the words on her lips. They stopped 
and stared at each other. 

“ The deer! ” worried Dorothy. 

“ That shot came from the other side of the 
road.” 

“ Then what was it? ” 

“ Mr. Lynn.” 

“ Oh.” Dorothy was immensely relieved. 
“ Trying out his gun, I suppose.” 

Cristel hailed her father as soon as they 
were in sight of camp, talked hurriedly for a 
few moments, and drew a sigh of relief when 
she saw him start off toward the hill. 

A cooling dip and luncheon on the pebbled 
beach helped to pass the time, but Cristel 
scarcely took her gaze from the trail. 

“ Cris,” said Aunt Dorothy suddenly, “ I 
demand to know what’s up. You’ve been act¬ 
ing queer for the last two hours.” 


MR. LYNN’S REPUTATION 


149 


Cristel did not answer, for her father was 
coming down the trail. “Got him!” he 
shouted, “ at the first shot,—only fifty yards 
from the road! ” 

A babel of excitement! It was some time 
before he had a chance to explain that Mr. 
Lynn had shot a mountain lion that lay 
crouched beside the deer-trail on the hill. 

“ The trail we came down? ” echoed Aunt 
Dorothy. 

Cristel nodded, and Dorothy’s expression 
was a comical mixture of alarm, relief, and dis¬ 
appointment. “And to think that I trotted 
right up to that rock to look at him! But what 
a nuisance to have to tell people that I en¬ 
countered a wild mountain lion, and he ran 
away from me! ” 


CHAPTER XVI 


HOME AGAIN 

The incident of the cougar did not disrupt 
the camp, in spite of Fay’s ardent desire to 
“ pack up and go right home.” Dorothy had 
her night under the stars, several nights, in 
fact, and once she and Cristel were rewarded 
with a glimpse of the doe and her fawn, sil¬ 
houetted against the moonlight near the lake. 

Altogether they had had a most delightful 
time of it, and were not a little reluctant when 
the time finally did come for them to “pack up 
and go right home.” They said good-by to the 
old couple, after Mr. Lynn had gallantly pre¬ 
sented Aunt Dorothy with the skin of the lion 
that had run away from her. Mr. Thornton 
drove on the homeward trip, and they arrived 
at the big brown house just at sunset of a warm 
August day. 

“ We’ve had a glorious time, but it’s nice to 
be back, isn’t it?” said Cristel, the “home¬ 
body,” who did not sit down to rest until the 

150 


HOME AGAIN 


151 


machine had been unpacked, and supper of 
creamed eggs and hot chocolate was steaming 
on the table. 

With school in the offing, Billee and Fay 
set about to make the most of the remaining 
days of vacation. They spent many hours 
with piano and violin while Cristel helped 
Norah put the house to rights after its weeks 
of vacancy. 

She loved every nook and cranny of the big 
house, from the cellar where Norah’s preserves 
shone in tempting rows, to the unfinished attic 
where the girls often came on rainy days to 
tell stories or give plays. Most especially she 
loved the little gabled room which had always 
been hers. To-day she sat at her desk listen¬ 
ing to the familiar sounds about,—the throb 
of Fay’s violin and Billee’s too vigorous accom¬ 
paniment, the rattle of dishes in the kitchen, 
the tread of her father’s footsteps across the 
front porch,—yes, even the click of Aunt 
Dorothy’s typewriter had become a part of it 
all. Outside, the wind rustled among the pines 
and blew gently through the screen, laden with 
odor of balsam and late wild flowers. 


152 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


For a long time she sat musing while her 
eyes wandered absently from the river to the 
familiar road, down which a flock of sheep was 
being driven on its way to the valley, after a 
summer in mountain pastures. 

“ Cristel!” Billee’s voice from the hall be¬ 
low. “ If you’re going to see Janet and the 
others off on the five-thirty train, you’d better 
hurry. It’s after five, now.” 

“Oh!” Cristel jumped up, startled from 
her revery. “ Thank you, Billee. I shouldn’t 
want to miss seeing them off.” 

She ran quickly down-stairs. “ I’ll be back 
by six,” she told her father, “ unless you want 
me to stop in town for something.” 

“ No; better be on time for dinner.” 

“ I will,” Cristel promised as she flew down 
the steps. 

She was half-way up Main Street before the 
dust raised by the passing sheep had settled. 
A number of people had already gathered at 
the railroad station when she arrived there, hot 
and breathless. 

Out of this year’s class, three were going on 
to the University. A little group revolved 


HOME AGAIN 


153 


about them, giving parting admonitions and 
extracting promises. 

“Here’s Cris!” called Janet. “I knew 
you’d be along to wave a hankie at us. I wish 
you were going on to college.” 

Notwithstanding her high scholarship, Cris- 
tel had never been particularly eager to go to 
college. But now, in the face of her uncer¬ 
tainty over the future, she almost wished that 
she could join the trio who were looking for¬ 
ward to four happy years of work and play. 
To-day, she envied them. 

“I do wish you were going,” Janet re¬ 
peated. 

“ So say we all,” added George, no less 
sincerely. 

“ You really ought to change your mind,” 
Edith Edwards put in. “ With the three of 
us in Berkeley, and the rest of the class scat¬ 
tered all the way from Reno to Los Angeles, 
whatever will you do up here in Lakrest all by 
yourself? ” 

“ I won’t be quite all by myself,” Cristel 
objected with a smile. 

A peremptory toot from the little train sent 


154 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

everybody scurrying to get the travelers 
aboard before the signal for departure. 

“ Good-by! Don’t forget to write! ” Calls, 
smiles, tears! The train gained speed and dis¬ 
appeared in the woods bearing off another 
contingent of Lakrest young people. 

Cristel was not the only one who turned 
away, sober-miened. Every year it was the 
same. One or two Lakrest graduates might 
go into a local store or bank; a few of the 
girls might stay at home, but an appalling 
number always left for the cities to take posi¬ 
tions or to go farther with the education that 
would eventually lead to work in larger towns 
than Lakrest. 

The significance of it had never particularly 
bothered Cristel until now, but every step 
seemed to bring it more forcibly to her mind. 
She was passing the gray stone house of the 
Nestors, built to stand for generations. Now 
it was empty and deserted; it had been that 
way ever since Emilie Nestor had married an 
engineer and gone to South America, taking 
her father with her. On the next corner was 
the snug little cottage that had so often been 


HOME AGAIN 


155 


a scene for parties and merrymakings. Now it 
was just a lonesome refuge for the two old 
people whose children were out in the world 
seeking their fortunes. At intervals all along 
the way were neglected gardens and boarded 
up houses telling a mute story of what had 
been. 

“And some day it will be the same with the 
brown house. Aunt Dorothy will be gone, 
Fay may be studying in the city, then Billee 

and her Physical Culture School, and I- 

O dear, we can’t all go away and leave Daddy 
alone. Our home will just die! ” She was 
turning in at the gate now, and her eyes were 
full of love for the rambling old home,—love, 
and a queer, panicky fear. 

“ You look like the professional mourner 
in Oliver Twist ” jibed Billee, when Cristel 
entered the dining-room. “ I didn’t know you 
liked Janet so much, or is it George? ” 

“ Not getting lonesome already, are you? ” 
queried her father anxiously. 

“No, but I don’t like good-bys; let’s talk 
about something else.” 

“The pageant,” suggested Fay promptly. 



156 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ Ruth Wentworth is writing it. It’s going 
to he a lovely Indian legend with a natural 
background. It’s so thrilling building the 
music and dances around the theme.” 

“ The future pageant artist speaks,” smiled 
Mr. Thornton. “ But as for the immediate 
future, what is it to be, Cristel? Business col¬ 
lege in San Francisco? ” 

There were more or less suppressed gasps of 
astonishment around the table, much to his 
amusement. Cristel’s answer was prompt. 

“ It’s to be home, right now; but I’d like to 
study shorthand and typing. Miss Courier, 
in the Express Office, takes one or two students 
every year.” 

Both father and aunt beamed approval. 
“ I’m glad to see that you’re not mad to dash 
off to the city, right away,” said the one. 

“ That’s a very good idea, Cris,” began the 
other. “ Every writer should be equipped with 
shorthand and typing, and then, should it be 
necessary to support yourself while you’re 
waiting for these ornery editor people,”—this, 
with a twinkle—“ to recognize your ability, you 
will have something practical to depend upon.” 



HOME AGAIN 


157 


No one but Aunt Dorothy was quite ready 
to take Cristel’s writing seriously, not even 
Cristel, herself. Even now, she wished that 
Dorothy would not speak so confidently about 
it. It was embarrassing, in the face of her 
younger sisters’ assured talent, and her father’s 
wary skepticism. She would win some day, of 
course, but it was not in her nature to discuss 
a battle still unfought. 

“ Everybody seems to type nowadays,” she 
said. “ Please pass the butter, Fay,—no, the 
sweet butter.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


billee’s circus 

Billee had spent the entire evening care¬ 
fully puncturing the paper tickets with pin¬ 
pricks, because “ Circuses always have per¬ 
forated tickets.” 

Next morning she waited impatiently until 
Dorothy had slipped her breakfast napkin into 
its ring. “ May I be excused now, Auntie? ” 
she begged. “ Fay will take half an hour to 
finish that piece of toast, cutting it up into 
strips that way. And I’m in an awful 
hurry, really. The circus is this afternoon, 
and I have to rehearse. I’m to be the ani¬ 
mated rag-bag.” 

“ Go ahead,” laughed Dorothy. “ There are 
some things on my trunk that might add to 
your costume.” 

“ O goodie, thank you. Good-by.” She 
stopped at the door. “Are you sure that you 
don’t want to be the snake-charmer, Fay? 
You could do an Oriental dance, you know. 

158 


BILLEE’S CIRCUS 


159 


Benny can play Song of India on the har¬ 
monica. 

Fay’s eyebrows arched contemptuously. 
“ Such child’s play, Billee! Do you think I’d 
cheapen my dancing that way? ” 

“ Well,” Billee paused doubtfully. “ It will 
be fun. You won’t let me have Patsy, either? 
She’d make a lovely lion,—just the right color, 
even if she isn’t big enough.” 

“ No,” replied Fay firmly. “ Why don’t 
you take the Three Musketeers? They’re your 
own.” 

“ I thought of them. ’Member the trained 
nightingales we saw one time? But the ducks 
would be too hard to manage, and besides, 
nightingales don’t quack. Cris says I can have 
Terry. He’s going to be the trained seal. 
Good-by.” Billee was half-way up the stairs 
before she finished. 

“ What are you others going to do with the 
day? ” queried Aunt Dorothy. 

“ I have my music lesson at ten,” responded 
Fay, “ and I’m going to Miss Emmerling’s 
for lunch. We’re going to talk about the 
pageant.” 


160 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

“ No wonder Billee’s circus failed to tempt,” 
replied Dorothy. “ How about you, Cris? ” 

“ Nothing special. I was going to dust your 
room first. You’ve been so busy lately.” 

“What a dear! I’ll appreciate it, for I 
must get those letters off. Afterward, would 
you like to walk down the highway a bit and 
have lunch at the little Swiss tea-room? I’ve 
never been there.” 

“ Neither have I,” beamed Cristel. “ I’d 
love it.” 

It was nearly twelve o’clock before Dorothy 
and Cristel started along the highway toward 
the little chalet perched high on a crag above 
the road. Late as the season was, the outdoor 
gallery was well filled, and Cristel and her 
aunt took the last available table on the porch 
overlooking a vista like a bit of Switzerland. 
Cristel thoroughly enjoyed the dainty lunch¬ 
eon, and they lingered long over the tiny cakes 
and tea which finished the meal. 

“ It’s a joy to take you about,” laughed 
Dorothy. “You get such a tremendous 
amount of fun out of it.” 

“ Well, who wouldn’t? ” answered Cristel. 


BILLEE’S CIRCUS 


161 


“ It is fun seeing things and going to places. 
Look, Aunt Dee, isn’t that a lovely tapestry? 
Who would ever think of finding that in the 
wilds of the Sierras? ” 

“ French,—to heighten the effect. I’m not 
at all sure that I like the idea of a Swiss chalet 
in the Sierras. A log cabin would be more in 
keeping. French tapestries don’t seem to fit, 
somehow. By the way, Cristel, did you put 
my Japanese batik away? It’s perfectly all 
right to use it over my trunk. That won’t 
hurt it, and it’s ideal for the purpose. I can’t 
stand having a bare trunk around.” 

Cristel did not answer immediately. “ Why, 
I don’t remember having removed the scarf 
from your trunk. Was it there this morning, 
before I dusted? ” 

“ Well, wasn’t it? I don’t remember. Per¬ 
haps I put it away myself. Shall we go? I 
want to shop down-town.” 

They loitered along the highway, stopping 
in town to make a few purchases. “And now, 
we have the rest of the afternoon to ourselves. 
We may as well make a complete holiday, Cris. 
What shall we do,—movies, or Billee’s circus? ” 



162 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

Cristel gave her a quick glance. “ I believe 
you’d like to go to Billee’s circus,” she accused. 

“ I really should,” Dorothy confessed, with¬ 
out hesitation. “ Shall we? ” 

Cristel answered by turning in the direction 
of the Ludlows’. Signs of carnival were ap¬ 
parent all along the fence, where flags, colored 
streamers, and balloons danced in the breeze. 
Cristel and Dorothy gleefully read the big 
sign over the gate. 

“ BIG CIRCUSS 
“Admission—2 cents 
“Adults—5 cents 

“ x /2 THE PROSEEDS FOR CHARUTY.” 

The newcomers were uproariously wel¬ 
comed to the rickety “ grandstand,” where, 
ensconced in the midst of a bevy of young Lak- 
rest, Gordon Blake sat beaming! 

“ He bought out all the b’loons and hot 
dogs for us, and ordered an extra gallon of ice¬ 
cream,” a near-by youth informed Aunt Dor¬ 
othy in a whisper. “ He’s great! ” 

Dorothy could not help responding to Mr. 
Blake’s frank smile. He cleared a place for 




Cristel and Dorothy gleefully read the big sign 

Page 162 . 











































BILLEE’S CIRCUS 


163 


her and Cristel, and before many minutes had 
passed, the three “ adults ” were having as 
glorious a time as the youngest toddler who 
squealed with delight over the red balloon just 
presented to her by Mr. Blake. Babies 
crawled over them; older boys and girls of all 
sizes squirmed to get close to them; it was 
impossible to be formal. Gordon Blake and 
Dorothy Thornton were like two children as 
they watched a marvelously “ tattooed ” lady 
doing stunts in the sawdust ring, while Martha 
Ludlow dispensed ice-cream and lemonade. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, our next feature 
will be the snake-charmer.” 

Dorothy wondered what Fay would have 
said to the gorgeous green and gold of Jenny 
Naylor’s costume, and the jointed snake from 
the ten-cent store. But she applauded feel- 
ingly. 

“And now, our remarkable trained ele¬ 
phant,” announced the ring-master impres¬ 
sively, only to be rudely interrupted by a shout 
from behind scenes. 

“ No, we can’t have the elephant. He came 
apart.” 


164 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ Due to a slight change in arrangements, 
the strong man will be next.” 

They were all there, the clown, the wild man, 
the trained seal (slightly off color, as Billee’s 
old green sweater tied on with a red ribbon 
was Terry’s only disguise). 

“ The animated rag-bag.” Both Dorothy 
and Cristel applauded extra well,—until Billee 
appeared. Then Dorothy’s jaw dropped, for 
there, among Billee’s rags and tatters, trailing 
in the dust, was the Japanese batik! 

“Billee!” Cristel gasped, but Dorothy 
silenced her. 

“Not now. Get the scarf as soon as she has 
finished. I’ll talk to her later.” 

Cristel had never heard that tone in Dor¬ 
othy’s voice. She wished that they had not 
come to the circus. Immediately after Billee’s 
act, Cristel procured the scarf, confining her 
scolding to a few tense words. 

“Is she really angry?” Billee asked re¬ 
morsefully. “ O dear! I didn’t know what it 
was. She said to take the things on her trunk.” 

“ Yes, but Billee, your own common sense 
would tell you-” she stopped and shook 



BILLEE’S CIRCUS 


165 


her head. Sometimes it seemed as though Bil- 
lee did not have any common sense. 

A few moments later, she put the rumpled 
scarf into Dorothy’s hand. “ I’m ever so 
sorry, and Billee is, too. I hope it’s not much 
damaged.” 

“ Oh, the scarf? ” Dorothy had been talk¬ 
ing to Mr. Blake, and had already forgotten. 
To Cristel’s amazement, the incident was 
scarcely mentioned again. 

t 

“ She really was vexed, at first,” Crist el con¬ 
fided to Billee, when later, they turned out of 
the Ludlow gate. “ If it hadn’t been for Mr. 
Blake, I don’t think she’d have forgiven you 
so soon. That scarf is very valuable, Billee.” 

But Billee was absorbed in contemplation of 
the couple just ahead. “ Cris,” she said sud¬ 
denly, “ I think that’s all bosh about Aunt 
Dorothy’s not liking men.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


ON THE THRESHOLD 

Cristel was lonesome. School had begun, 
and Fay and Billee being absent most of the 
day, the big house seemed weirdly grave and 
silent. Even Dorothy was away a great deal 
now, to conventions and shopping expeditions 
in Sacramento, bridge luncheons and board 
meetings in Lakrest. More than once, she had 
been the guest of Mrs. Brandon, wife of the 
Eagle editor. At dinner there, she had 
been formally presented to Mr. Gordon Blake, 
much to Billee’s infinite relief. Not that the 
matter of being properly introduced ever 
troubled Billee, but Aunt Dorothy was 
“ funny ” about such things. 

All this left Cristel much to herself, and for 
the first time in her life, she knew what it was 
to be lonely. She missed school and its asso¬ 
ciations, though she had few really intimate 
friends. 

She spent long, tedious hours at Dorothy’s 

166 


ON THE THRESHOLD 167 

typewriter, after which the waste-basket would 
be filled with sheets of exercises. 

“ I don’t see how any one ever learns to 
type,” she sighed to-day, rubbing her aching 
head while she scanned a sheet of paper in 
which the capitals danced tipsily above the 
other letters, spaces appeared where they 
should not and did not appear where they 
should, letters tangled themselves up in the 
most amazing combinations. 

She yawned and stretched her cramped mus¬ 
cles, then hastily slipped the cover over the 
machine and went up to her own room to 
dream over her view. A lazy breeze, heavy 
with the odor of sunned pines caressed her 
flushed face. She leaned elbows on the sill and 
looked out over the stretch of woodland and 
meadow. How quiet and peaceful it seemed, 
and how she loved it! Yet she was restless and 
lonesome. Almost, she regretted her decision 
to remain in Lakrest while her classmates went 
out into the world. 

“ I wonder what’s the matter with me 
lately,” she mused uneasily. 

She finally got up and went out, sauntering 


168 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


down Main Street to the drug store. Kenneth 
Chanslor, another classmate, served her the 
strawberry ice-cream soda with which she 
whiled away a little time. 

“ Seems kind o’ dead around here when 
school’s in, and we’re out, doesn’t it?” queried 
Kenneth dolefully. “ Sometimes I even wish 
I were back.” 

“I do often,” Cristel answered sociably. 
“ But I suppose we’ll get used to it. We can’t 
go to school forever.” 

“ Well, I should hope not. I miss the fel¬ 
lows, but not the Geometry and Civics so much. 
You planning to do anything special? ” 

“ I don’t know; I want to do something ” 

‘‘Funny, all the girls do now. But there 
isn’t much around Lakrest. Look what I’m 
doing! ” 

“ I shouldn’t mind leaving here if I knew I 
could come back, but so many don’t come 
back.” 

“You can’t very well, if your work is some¬ 
where else.” 

Kenneth polished glasses while Cristel 
sipped the last syrupy drops. “ I guess the 


ON THE THRESHOLD 169 

trouble with me,” she decided, “ is that I want 
to eat my cake and have it, too. I want to go 
away, and yet I don’t want the old brown 
house to grow empty like so many others.” 

“ Well, you’ll have to go into Larson’s and 
sell ribbons or something. The one or two 
library or office jobs around here are being held 
so fast that there’s not a chance at them until 
somebody dies.” 

“At any rate, I’ve enough to do with my 
typing and shorthand for a while.—Is this the 
new Journal? I’ll take one.” 

She tucked the magazine under her arm and 
turned toward Lookout Trail. There was 
a short story of Aucar’s in the Journal. 
Cristel wanted to read it on Lookout Point, 
wffiere she could glance up from the magazine 
and see a wild mountain scene such as Aucar 
liked to describe. The trail was an easy climb 
at this time of year, and she came out on 
Lookout Point, untired by the walk, found a 
sheltered spot, and sat down on a carpet of 
pine needles to drink in the ever-wonderful 
view. It was just the place to read one of 
Aucar’s stories. She turned to the front pages 


170 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


of the magazine and became absorbed in a tale 
of early pioneer days. 

The shadows were long, and the chill of a 
September evening was creeping up before 
Cristel aroused herself at the end of the story. 

“ His descriptions are glorious,” she exulted, 
rising to start down the trail again, “ and he 
knows the Sierras. That cliff from which the 
Indians kept their watch might even be Look¬ 
out Point.” 

There not being any snow on the ground, it 
was comparatively safe for Cristel to descend 
the trail with half her attention on adjectives 
and descriptive phrases. She reached the road 
without emulating Billee’s example of the 
previous winter. No sooner home than she ran 
up to her room to dash down a few notes. 

“ There,” she finished with satisfaction, “ I’ll 
copy it in my journal after dinner, and get a 
picture of the view to-morrow.” 

But she did not write in her brown journal 
after dinner. The Aucar story had intrigued 
her imagination, and she sat for a long time, 
dreaming tales of her own. Suddenly her eyes 
lighted with resolution. 


ON THE THRESHOLD 


171 


“ I wonder if I dare,” she breathed. 

A long minute ticked itself away, and then, 
“ It will do no harm,” she decided. 

The journal was pushed aside in favor of a 
thick scratch-pad. Cristel filled her fountain 
pen and began to write rapidly. Sounds of 
Fay’s violin, Martha Ludlow’s high-pitched 
laughter, general merriment from below-stairs 
failed to disturb her. She wrote absorbedly 
until nearly midnight, and finally stopped with 
a sigh of satisfaction. Her fingers were 
cramped, her back stiff, but she had finished a 
story, a whole story. To-morrow she would 
revise and type it, and then, “ I wonder if I 
dare,” she said again. 

It took more than one day for Cristel to 
type her story of the Indian maiden, but after 
a valiant struggle and many stops for erasures, 
the deed was accomplished. She slipped the 
manuscript into a long envelope and hurried 
down to the post-office, fearful lest she lose her 
courage. She had a funny little moment of 
panic after the long envelope had slipped 
through the slot. 

“ Perhaps I should have told Aunt Doro- 


172 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


thy,” she ruminated, on the way home, “ but 
then, it will be better to surprise her.” 

Long days of anxious suspense followed, 
days in which Cristel dreamed alternately of 
what it would mean to see her story in print, 
and of what she would do with the money the 
editor would send her. This story was much 
better than the others she had written; of 
course it would be accepted immediately. 

The days grew into a monotonous round 
which always began with the hurry and bustle 
of getting Billee and Fay off to school, and 
ended with an hour or more of solitary scrib¬ 
bling in her own little room. In between there 
was housework, trips down-town, study, occa¬ 
sionally a walk with Mabel Mallory or some 
other of the few lately graduated students of 
Lakrest High School. Aunt Dorothy was an 
ideal companion in her free hours, and Cristel 
enjoyed her long, delightful talks about the 
things she had seen, the interesting people she 
had met. 

“Auntie, I’m going to miss you so, when 
you’re gone,” Cristel told her one day, when 
they were walking toward town. It was the 


ON THE THRESHOLD 


173 


first time that any one had definitely spoken of 
her going, and for a moment Dorothy was 
silent. 

“ I’ll be with you six months longer, and 
after that-” 

“ After that,” echoed Cristel dolefully. 
“ Goodness, I just hate to think of your being 
away off somewhere where we can’t ever get 
together for walks and talks.” 

“ Let’s not think of it now. Time plays 
strange tricks with our expectations, and— 
there may be a little surprise in store for some 
one.” 

Cristel glanced up inquiringly, but Dorothy 
would volunteer no further information, and 
only dimpled mischievously when her niece’s 
curiosity developed into real excitement. 

“ Not now, I’m not sure about the surprise, 
just yet. Try to forget about it; I didn’t mean 
to tell you, really. Run, open the mail-box 
while I stamp these letters.” 

Cristel slipped the key into the family box, 
and immediately did forget her curiosity about 
Aunt Dorothy’s surprise. On top of the pile 
of mail was a long, thick envelope bearing 




174 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


Cristel’s own name. That couldn’t be a letter, 
and yet it bore the stamp of the magazine to 
which she had sent her manuscript, over two 
weeks ago. She fingered it uncertainly, and 
then, seeing that Dorothy was still engrossed 
in her task, she quickly tore open the envelope 
and found—her manuscript! They had sent it 
back, with no word save a stereotyped, printed 
slip. Cristel gulped. Of course, she knew 
that even famous authors had had their early 
work returned in just this way, but somehow, 
this did not reconcile her to the disappoint¬ 
ment. Not a word of encouragement! Then 
her work was not worth printing, she was a 
failure! 

It would have been impossible to conceal her 
feelings from Aunt Dorothy, even if she had 
wished to. Strangely, she did not. She 
wanted to show Dorothy that curtly worded 
slip, to tell her that she had been entirely 
wrong in her judgment. She could not write; 
she was not one of “ the talented Thorntons ” 
after all. 

Aunt Dorothy understood immediately. 
Cristel did not have to make embarrassing ex- 



ON THE THRESHOLD 


175 


planations. When she ended her tale of woe 
with a sorrowful, “You see, it wasn’t even 
worth printing,” Dorothy took the script from 
her and glanced through it hurriedly. 

“ No, it isn’t worth printing,” she said with 
gentle candor, “ but it has its points, and no 
doubt was very good practice. I don’t think 
that fiction is your line, Cris.” 

“ But it was you who told me I could 
write! ” 

“You can. If you survive your early dis¬ 
couragement you will write some day, but I 
don’t think that it will be fiction.” 

“What then?” dismally. “Recipes for 
home cooking? I’ve won prizes with them, but 
they are not literature ” 

“No,” laughed Aunt Dorothy. How could 
she be so light-hearted over it all? “As far as 
I can see, the Fates point consistently in one 
direction. If you’ll only just wait a while, 
you’ll find it out for yourself.” 

Cristel sighed. Dorothy seemed to run to 
cryptic remarks to-day. She was evidently 
very gay about something. It was no time to 
talk of failure to her. 


CHAPTER XIX 


MYSTERY 

An hour later, Dorothy called, and Cristel 
looked in to see her frowning over a bank 
statement. “ Do you remember what day we 
were in San Francisco? ” 

“ What day! We were there a whole week.” 

“ Yes, I mean what day was it that we met 
Mr. Blake? ” 

“ Oh, let me see,—we were there the second 
week in April, and we met him-” 

“ The second week in April?” interrupted 
Dorothy, furling the leaves of a calendar. 
“ This check was cashed that same week.” 

Cristel wondered what that check had to do 
with their visit to San Francisco, but suddenly 
she remembered. Surely Aunt Dorothy was 
not doubting Mr. Blake now. Why, he had 
been at the house only last week, and they had 
all had a delightful chat about books and 
things. 

There was some mystery about Mr. Blake. 

176 



MYSTERY 


177 


Notwithstanding his delightful company, he 
had an air of restraint, and every now and then 
would check himself in the telling of some per¬ 
sonal anecdote. Nobody seemed to know very 
much about him, except that he was in the 
Sierras for his health, and that he lived alone 
in a cabin just over the divide. But his genial 
friendliness had won him a place in the heart 
of the neighborhood, and he was almost as well 
known and liked as was Dorothy Thornton, 
herself. 

“Auntie,” Cristel said now, “ you don’t 
really mistrust Mr. Blake? ” 

Dorothy’s laughing brown eyes were proof 
of her sincerity as she replied, “ Why, you 
silly child, of course not! ” 

Still, Cristel felt that there was something 
queer about that check. She remembered that 
Mr. Aucar’s lawyer had written that all mail 
received after a certain date was being held. 
The lawyer’s letter had come the day that they 
had started for Lake Tahoe. That being the 
case, the letter containing the check should be 
among those being held in New York. Yet 
here was the canceled check, cashed in San 


178 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

Francisco, the same week that they had seen 
Gordon Blake there. It did not take much 
perspicacity to see the obvious conclusion. In 
spite of Aunt Dorothy’s optimism, Cristel con¬ 
tinued to struggle with doubt and suspicion. 

“ Can’t you write to Mr. Aucar’s lawyer 
again? ” she suggested. “ He might have for¬ 
warded that letter to San Francisco as soon as 
Aucar sent for his mail.” 

Dorothy smiled reassuringly. “ Please stop 
worrying about it, dear. I know that Mr. 
Blake is all right.” 

Cristel tried to turn her thoughts to other 
things, but her mind went back to the subject 
again and again. She felt that she must reason 
it out, somehow. It was a strange coincidence, 
surely, and that air of mystery about Mr. 
Blake did not mend matters. 

A busy fortnight passed before Cristel saw 
Gordon Blake again, but when she did, she felt 
conscience-stricken that she should have 
doubted his character, even for a moment. She 
might as consistently have suspected Benny 
Ludlow. 

The incident began to fade from her mind, 


MYSTERY 


179 


and thoughts of her recent disappointment to 
take its place. After a little reflection, the 
conviction that she was a failure seemed ridic¬ 
ulous. She made up her mind to try again, 
and mailed another manuscript on the same 
day that she found the New Y r ork lawyer’s let¬ 
ter among Aunt Dorothy’s mail. 

“ I was going to stop for the basket-ball 
game, but I’m sure Auntie is anxious to see 
this particular letter. I’ll hurry home,” she 
decided. 

Janet waved from a window. “ Home for 
a few days,” she explained, and wanted to 
know if Cristel cared to go for a walk. 

“ Not just now,” Cristel called. “ Some 
day soon, though. I’ve an important message 
for Dorothy, now.” 

“ Let me know when you can.” 

“ All right, ’by.” 

Cristel found Dorothy at the piano, playing 
absently. 

“ Hate to interrupt you, Auntie, but here’s 
a letter from Dixon and Wise.” 

Dorothy opened the letter and scanned it 
hastily, while Cristel studied her face. 


180 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

“ Don’t bother taking the mail up-stairs, 
Cris. I’m going up myself.” That was all. 
Cristel was certain that Dorothy was keeping 
something from her. 

Dinner that evening was a rather sombre 
affair, despite Norah’s culinary art. Cristel 
was still puzzled and worried. Mr. Thornton 
had been preoccupied for several days with the 
problem of the railroad tunnel which was 
undergoing repairs. Fay was in the midst of 
one of her periodic moods, and even Billee 
seemed worried over something. Terry re¬ 
flected the atmosphere of the household, and 
finally Patsy gave up the attempt to play with 
him, curled up disconsolately, and fell asleep. 

“ The only cheerful beings about the place 
are Norah and the Three Musketeers,” Cristel 
wrote in her diary that night. 

Billee came into Cristel’s room one evening, 
and flung herself on the bed. “ Fay’s getting 
so young-ladyfied, and artistic, and everything 
since she’s been to High School and studied 
pageantry, that she’s just no fun at all.” 

Cristel laid down her pen to inquire, 
“ What’s the matter now? ” 


MYSTERY 


181 


“ Well, we went to the basket-ball game to¬ 
gether, and all she did during the whole game 
was to make remarks about how crude and 
unbeautiful modern youths are, in comparison 
with the lovely Greeks.” 

Cristel burst into a peal of merriment, but 
Billee went on, unsmilingly. “ Even in music, 
we don’t get along nearly so well as we used. 
She keeps raving about ‘ the poetry of motion,’ 
and ‘ perfect rhythm,’ and insists on using the 
metronome to ‘ ascertain the ideal tempo.’ I 
hate metronomes. I wish Dad would keep her 
away from Miss Emmerling.” 

Cristel was still laughing. “ I don’t think 
that Miss Emmerling is entirely responsible for 
the sudden burst of metronomes and high-flown 
phrases. More likely, it’s Gabrov’s History of 
Pageantry . She’ll get over that, Billee.” 

“ It isn’t only that. We used to be such 
good pals; and now she treats me like a baby. 
Everything I do is ‘ child’s play,’ or ‘ tomboy- 
ish.’ Sometimes she acts as though she were 
older than Aunt Dorothy.” 

“ Don’t I know it, dear? ” Cristel sympa¬ 
thized. “ But never mind, the real Fay is un- 


182 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


derneath it all, the Fay that we knew after her 
illness last fall. You’ll be in High School next 
year, Billee, and then Fay won’t seem so far 
away from you.” 

“ Next year! ” Crist el might have said next 
century. It was all the same to Billee. “ By 
that time, she’ll be considering Lakrest High 
School too ‘ crude and unbeautiful ’ for her 
lofty ideals. You may not realize it, Cris, but 
sometimes I get worried about Fay.” 

“ You mustn’t, though,” Cristel said, quite 
earnestly. “ Fay does seem to grow up faster 
than any of the rest of us. Perhaps it’s because 
she is so gifted, Billee, and will make us all 
proud of her, some day. She does dance beau¬ 
tifully, you know. Miss Emmerling herself 
says so, and she has seen all the great dancers 
of the world.” 

Billee did not find this particularly reassur¬ 
ing. “ That’s just the trouble,” she com¬ 
plained. “ Fay does everything beautifully, 
except maybe,—Geometry and dish-washing. 
If she’d only be as she used to be, I wouldn’t 
care how she danced, or how she played, even, 
—that is, as long as she didn’t play out of 


MYSTERY 183 

tune,” Billee added as a conscientious after¬ 
thought. 

At this moment, the subject of discussion 
danced in, cheeks rosy, eyes sparkling from 
her brisk walk in the cold air. “ Edgar walked 
home with me,” she informed them, “ and we 
met Mr. Blake just turning in at the gate. 
He’s waiting to see Aunt Dorothy, Billee,” 
she added emphatically, as the young person 
addressed started for the door. “ Shouldn’t I 
ask him to dinner, Cris? And—and Edgar’s 
folks are all away. He’ll have to eat alone, 
if he goes home,” she hinted. 

“ I’ll go down and see Norah right away,” 
promised Cristel. “ I’m sure it will be all right 
to ask both. You and Edgar were going to 
practise your violin duet to-night, anyway, 
weren’t you? ” 

“ Y r es. I’ll tell him he may stay? ” At Cris- 
tel’s nod Fay ran lightly down the stairs, and 
was in earnest conversation with Edgar when 
her sisters reached the hall. 

Billee glanced at Edgar’s lanky form, and 
at the pale, thin face half-covered by his heavy, 
horn-rimmed glasses. “ If that’s her idea of 


184 ? 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


Greek beauty,” she began, but Cristel pinched 
her. Edgar was beaming up at them. 

“ You’ll practise with us, won’t you, 
Billee? ” he asked eagerly, and added in a whis¬ 
per, “ I’ve hidden the metronome.” 

At which Billee nodded a grinning assent; 
Edgar was certainly not beautiful, but he had 
his redeeming qualities. 

It looked as though Fay and Billee were to 
have a harmonious evening, and so Cristel 
looked about for Mr. Blake. 

“ He decided not to wait,” Fay told her. 
“ Said he’d come at another time.” 

Cristel was more relieved than disappointed. 
She hoped that he would not come again until 
the mystery of the Aucar letter had been 
solved. 


CHAPTER XX 


fay's triumph 

“ Whatever’ s the matter, Fay? That’s the 
second time you played C sharp for C natural. 
Professor Steiner would have sent you home 
long ago if you were playing for him; and I 
wouldn’t blame him. It makes a terrible dis¬ 
cord.” 

“ I think my G string is a little too tight,” 
Fay excused herself, tuning again. “ It’s this 
awful weather. My poor fiddle sounds as 
though it has the flu. There, now let’s try it 
again from the beginning.” 

Billee heaved a sigh and struck the opening 
chords again. The third attempt went better, 
until they reached the last page. In the middle 
of a lovely cantabile passage, Fay stopped with 
a snort of impatience. 

“ Bother! I can’t do that to-day,” she 
snapped, and laid the violin in its case. 

“ What is the matter? I never knew you to 

185 


186 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


bungle anything so,” Billee frowned. She 
wished that Fay would practise properly and 
get it over with. 

“ We’ll have to come back to it when I get 
this costume business off my mind. Is Cristel 
in yet? I do hope she gets some pretty goods. 
The other girls are hiring the cutest little ballet 
costumes, all fluffy and fairy-like.” 

Fay peered anxiously out of the window just 
as Cristel came up the path, laden with pack¬ 
ages. Fay dashed out to meet her. “ The 
goods!” she cried excitedly. “ Did you find 
anything shimmery and pretty? ” 

“ Do wait until we get in the house.” Cris- 
tel’s voice sounded tired, but Fay danced along 
beside her, raining questions until she elicited 
the information that Cristel had bought gray 
tarlatan. 

“ Gray tarlatan for a fairy costume! ” 

“ It makes up beautifully,” Cristel argued, 
“ especially for ballet effects.” 

“ Yes, it would be all right except for the 
contrast. The fairies in the ensemble are to 
have tulle costumes, and it will look so queer 
for the soloist to be in gray tarlatan. I’m sup- 


FAY'S TRIUMPH 


187 


posed to be a bit of milkweed down, soft and 
Huffy, but the tarlatan will make me stand out 
as stiff as a poker.” 

“ Well, it was the best I could do on that 
money. You’ll have to manage, unless you 
ask Dad if you may rent a costume, too.” 

“ You know I can’t, Cris, not this month. 
With my music bill, book bill, and all the rest. 
I can't ask him for any more, now.” 

Cristel smiled. There had been a time when 
such considerations would never have entered 
Fav’s mind. “Just as you think,” she said. 
“ Perhaps the other girls will decide to make 
their own costumes when they find that you’re 
setting them such a noble example.” 

“ No, the costumes are already ordered; and 
Miss Emmerling is anxious to bring it all,— 
costumes, dancing, and everything up to pro¬ 
fessional standards.” Fay was fingering the 
gray stuff dubiously. “ It will look fluffy in 
the distance,” she said hopefully. “ If only 
the others were not going to have tulle! ” 

“ Tulle is frightfully expensive.” 

“ I know. I don't see how I can ask Dad 
for anything more this month, and yet, a tar- 


188 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


latan soloist among a tulle ensemble! It would 
be a crime.” 

“ Well, it will have to be, unless you can 
persuade the girls to cancel their order.” 

“ Too late, and besides, it wouldn’t be fair 
to ask them all to wear cheese-cloth just be¬ 
cause I can’t afford anything better.” 

“ I don’t believe it’s a question of afford. 
Dad would be willing to help, under the cir¬ 
cumstances.” 

“ Sometimes I think Miss Emmerling is ex¬ 
pecting too much,” Fay mused, “ asking high- 
school girls to put on a finished performance, 
but her idea is really lovely. I’d love to see 
it worked out with proper scenery and cos¬ 
tumes.” 

“And what would they be? ” queried a mas¬ 
culine voice. The girls turned to see their 
father standing at the door. 

“ Oh, Daddy, have you been down to the 
theatre? The boys were saying that you were 
going to help them fix the sets.” 

“ Been directing an orchestra and shoving 
around back-drops all afternoon,” he beamed. 
“ That’s why the remark anent proper scenery 


FAY’S TRIUMPH 


189 


interested me. We’ve just finished a glorious 
squabble over that back-drop with the huge 
daisies sprawling all over it.” 

Fay’s eyes lighted. “ Why, that’s just what 
we need! I remember now; we thought that 
was so terrible when we first saw it, those im¬ 
mense flowers all out of proportion to the trees 
on the sides. But if we take out the trees, and 
use only green drapes or something, it will be 
just right. The boys could make gigantic 
blades of grass to correspond with the daisies, 
and it would be easy to fix up something that 
looked like a mushroom, don’t you think? 
We’re supposed to be fairies, not humans, and 
it won’t be at all out of harmony to have daisies 
towering above our heads. We could even 
make a milkweed pod for me to step out of.” 

Mr. Thornton regarded his daughter’s face 
with something more than affection,—a sort of 
wonder at the light which shone there every 
time she spoke of the thing she loved to do 
best. “ Why,” he began, somewhat relieved, 
“ I’ll go right back and apologize to Mr. Clark 
and tell him that his impossible daisies are just 
what we need.” 


190 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


Everybody in Lakrest contributed some¬ 
thing to the annual Charity Concert which was 
given for the benefit of a mountain home for 
destitute children. The local glee-club always 
saved their best selections for this particular 
occasion. Professor Steiner, who had played 
before royalty, brought out his old Strad- 
ivarius; it was the only time all year that he 
could be persuaded to play in public. This 
year, Miss Emmerling had chosen the best tal¬ 
ent from her group of rapidly advancing 
dancers, and built up a Fairy Fantasy 
which promised to be the finished performance 
she hoped to make it. Fay was to be the Milk¬ 
weed Fairy enticed out of the pod by Zephyr, 
the wind. Ten other girls were to play the part 
of the fairies with whom Zephyr and his play¬ 
mate were to dance in the final frolic. The idea 
had intrigued Fay’s fancy, and she spent hours 
with her instructor, devising steps, choosing 
rhythms, and talking over the possibilities in 
costume and scenery. 

“ I think Miss Emmerling will like the idea,” 
she said now, her ej r es visioning the fairy frolic 
among daisies and grasses that towered over 


FAY’S TRIUMPH 


191 


them, “ and with the ethereal tulle costumes, 
why, it’ll be perfect!” But her delight sud¬ 
denly vanished as her hand encountered the 
stiff gray tarlatan. She regarded it a while, 
shook her head dubiously, and abruptly left the 
room. 

Mr. Thornton gazed after her, and then at 
Cristel. “ I thought that Fay was well over 
that sort of thing,” he said disappointedly. 
“ What’s the matter now? Was it the cos¬ 
tume? ” 

“ Y r es,” answered Cristel, with a sigh. “ I 
don’t see what possessed Miss Emmerling to 
let them have tulle. Tarlatan would have done 
for an amateur performance. They could 
make the costumes themselves.” 

Mr. Thornton examined the goods with un¬ 
usual interest. “ Not much like down,” he 
commented briefly. “ Is Fay the only one to 
wear tarlatan? The others have tulle? ” 

“ Yes.” 

He rubbed his chin, frowning the while. 
“ Why didn’t she come and talk it over, instead 
of leaving the room so unceremoniously? How 
could she expect me to understand, when she 


192 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

hasn’t even mentioned it? That’s like the old 
Fay cropping up again.” 

Fay’s voice drifted in from the hall. “ Eva 
Richards would do it very nicely, and I could 
teach her the steps if you haven’t time, Miss 
Emmerling. No, I can’t explain now, I will 
when I see you. There’s no reason why you 
shouldn’t tell Eva right away though. Well, 
all right, if you’d rather talk it over with me 
first, but I’m sure you’ll think I’m right.” The 
receiver clicked, and Fay shortly appeared in 
the living-room. 

“ What have you done, Fay, given up the 
solo just because you couldn’t have a tulle 
costume? ” 

“ But isn’t that reason enough? Can’t you 
see how much lovelier it will be to have every¬ 
thing right? Why, that tarlatan would spoil 
the whole effect. Eva will be able to have a 
beautiful costume, and we do want it to be just 
perfect, you know.” 

Again Mr. Thornton gazed wonderingly at 
the earnest little face until Fay turned away 
and went quietly up-stairs. “ Cristel,” he said 
finally, “ can you recall a time when Fay was 


FAY’S TRIUMPH 


193 


willing to sacrifice her own particular glory 
for the sake of the group? This career busi¬ 
ness does seem to have its points, after all,” 
he ended, with a twinkle. 

Cristel’s eyes opened wide, but before she 
could answer he turned awav. “ I must send 
a wire,” he said. Apparently his mind was al¬ 
ready on some other subject. 

Cristel was disappointed that Fay had given 
up the honor of performing in the Charity 
Concert, for it was indeed an honor. People 
came many miles to hear and witness this much- 
talked-of program. Professor Steiner’s name 
had always been a drawing card. This year, 
Miss Emmerling’s was added to the list. It 
was a signal honor to be chosen to represent 
Miss Emmerling. 

Fay proved her sincerity by remaining 
adamant in her decision. She would give up 
her part rather than have the Milkweed Fairy 
spoil the effect of the whole ensemble. When 
Cristel saw the gossamer costumes of the 
others, she understood. 

If Fay was disappointed, she managed to 
hide it very well, at least, for a while. It was 


194 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


three days later that Cristel came upon her 
curled up in a chair in her room, dabbing a 
moist handkerchief at red-rimmed eyes. 

“ What’s the matter, dear? ” 

“ Nothing.” Fay sniffed discouragingly, 
and Cristel turned back to answer the door¬ 
bell. 

“ A package for you, Fay,” she announced, 

slipping it inside the door. “ The coat you sent 

to have dyed, I guess.” 

“ Leave it on the chair.” 

Cristel complied, and left the room again. 

It was evident that Fav wanted to be alone. 

%> 

She was hardly settled at her desk in her own 
room when she heard a squeal from below. 

“ Oh, Cris, come here, quick! ” 

Cristel nearly fell over the stairs, but she 
could hardly believe her eyes at the vision which 
greeted her. Fay was standing over the 
opened suit-box, her face radiant, in spite of 

V 

the recent tears. “Look!” she breathed. 

A pile of shining fluff lay in the tissue-lined 
box. Fay picked it up and held it against her. 
The fitted bodice was of glistening silver cloth, 
ornamented only with a pair of iridescent 


FAY’S TRIUMPH 


195 


wings. The skirt consisted of layer upon layer 
of misty, silver tulle. 

“ Like the veriest bit of down, isn’t it? ” she 
exulted. “ Isn’t Daddy a dear? ” 

“ Spoiling you as usual,” commented 
Cristel, with a smile, though her own heart 
sang at sight of Fay’s happiness. 

Lakrest had never seen the like of the vision 
that greeted them at the opening of Miss 
Emmerling’s long-heralded Fairy Fantasy . 
After a stirring orchestra number, the music 
slowed to a pensive waltz, and Zephyr floated 
in. Up the stem of the milkweed pod he ran, 
while the pod slowly opened. From some¬ 
where, a moonbeam shot through the foliage 
and played on the silvery fluffiness within. 
Something stirred, and as if just awakening 
from a deep sleep, the Milkweed Fairy rose, 
and spreading iridescent wings, stood poised 
on the tip of her cradle pod. The audience 
watched in awed surprise. They saw a bit of 
shining fluff apparently floating about from 
leaf to leaf, from stem to stem. Could it be a 
human dancer, this creature of such airy light- 


196 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

ness? From out the glen and shady leaf caves, 
the other fairies frolicked, played hide-and-seek 
among the grass-blades, and danced in the 
shade of mushrooms, until the curtain fell on a 
colorful ensemble, with the Milkweed Fairy 
poised in the centre. 

Mr. Thornton was silent a long time after 
the applause had died away. 

“Wasn’t she just lovely, Daddy?” Billee’s 
voice aroused him. “ Sometimes I’m afraid 
that Fay must be a genius or something.” 

“ Sometimes I’m afraid so, too,” he answered 
solemnly. 


CHAPTER XXI 


A GENIUS IN THE FAMILY 

F or days, the town buzzed with talk of Fay 
Thornton and her remarkable talents. She 
was in a fair way to be spoiled now, if never 
before. Billee beamed with the rest of the 
family over her sister’s achievements, but fre¬ 
quently indulged in misgivings. Fay, the 
playmate of her childhood, seemed to grow far¬ 
ther and farther away from her. Billee was 
not altogether convinced that having a genius 
for a sister would be unmitigated bliss, espe¬ 
cially when that sister had been an almost in¬ 
separable companion for so long. 

She went to the library and read all she could 
find on the subject of genius, and came home 
quite convinced that she could be just as happy 
without one in the family. Many of the ar¬ 
ticles she read were hard to understand, many 
of them disagreed, but on one point, they 
seemed to be of accord. Geniuses were hard 

197 


198 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


to live with, inclined to be selfish and incon¬ 
siderate of the happiness of others. 

“ That explains all Fay’s funny moods and 
tantrums,” Billee told Cristel earnestly. “ She 
hasn’t had any for a long time, but I s’pose 
she’ll get that way again. If she’s a genius, 
she can’t help herself.” 

“ Don’t worry, Billee,” laughed Cristel. 
“ Fay is perfectly normal, even if she is tal¬ 
ented. As a matter of fact, I don’t believe 
she ever was downright selfish or inconsiderate. 
Put to a test, she’d always give way to some 
one else.” 

“ Well, I’m worried, all the same. I’d rather 
have Fay just plain human.” 

Cristel slipped an arm about her little sister. 
“ It does seem that Fay is destined to grow 
away from us and do big things out in the 
world, but she’ll always be our sister. Remem¬ 
ber that.” 

Billee was not satisfied. “ I’m afraid she’ll 
never be the same old Fay, not since she dis¬ 
covered that she could dance.” 

“ Nonsense, don’t talk like that. We haven’t 
lost her yet.” 


199 


A GENIUS IN THE FAMILY 

Down-stairs the front door banged, and they 
heard Fay’s footsteps in the living-room. She 
put down her violin and struck a few chords 
on the piano. 

“ That’s the minor progression we had in 
Harmony last week. Fay and I used to be 
able to work our Harmony problems together, 
but now she talks ’way over my head. I’ve 
studied music as long as she has. She needn’t 
be so high-flown.” 

Fay’s voice sang up the stairway. “ Billee, 
walk into town with me? I want you to help 
pick out my new piece.” 

The sudden change of expression was com¬ 
ical. With a suppressed whoop, Billee started 
down the stairs, and was beside Fay when they 
started up Main Street, a few moments later. 

“ Professor Steiner says I may try a De¬ 
bussy if we can find one that you can play,” 
Fay explained. 

Billee’s gaiety vanished. So that was it! 
Just a matter of convenience, not the com¬ 
radely custom they had shared, of choosing 
their music together. Billee could not help re¬ 
senting the implication that she could not play 


200 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


anything that Fay could. To the dissertation 
on dominant sevenths, tone-color, rhythm, and 
all the rest of it, Billee responded enthusiastic¬ 
ally at first, but though she, too, loved music, 
there were other things that she liked to talk 
about occasionally. When Fay ignored a ref¬ 
erence to the Carnival, and pattered on in un¬ 
intelligible phrases, Billee sighed, and relapsed 
into silence. She decided that Fay was getting 
queer, despite Cristel’s optimism. 

They wandered through the plaza, chose the 
Debussy piece, matched a sample of Japanese 
silk for one of Miss Emmerling’s scarf dances, 
and still Billee tagged along morosely. 

“ I’d like to make a scarf dance out of that 
sunset,” Fay enthused. She stopped suddenly, 
but still gazed ecstatically at the far horizon. 
Billee was glad that this inspiration had smit¬ 
ten her just in front of Farley’s Bakery. 
Norah had asked her to order an extra loaf of 
bread for to-morrow. She waited patiently for 
the flow of adjectives which she felt sure was 
forthcoming. 

“ You know, Billee,” Fay began soulfully, 
“ I do think—that Mrs. Farley is making 



A GENIUS IN THE FAMILY 201 

raisin scones! Isn’t that odor maddening? 
Let’s go in and get some, I’m starved! ” 

Billee emitted a funny little squeak of sur¬ 
prise and delight, as she followed her inside. 
Perhaps there was hope for Fay, after all! 

They sat at a little table near the window, 
sniffing the warm fragrance of newly baked 
bread. “ I didn’t realize how cold and hungry 
I was,” Fay purred. “ Just look at those hot 
scones, Billee. They’re fairly bursting with 
big, juicy raisins.” 

Billee, having disposed of a generous help¬ 
ing of cake and a glass of milk before she had 
left home, was not in the least hungry, but she 
dared not say a word to spoil Fay’s sudden 
transition. 

“ Have you any money, Billee? ” 

“ Not with me.” 

“ Well, I’ve thirty cents. Let’s get a hot 
chocolate, too.—Hot chocolates and buttered 
scones,” she told the waitress, her eye on a 
tray of the triangular delicacies. 

The girl brought it at last, and Fay’s cold 
fingers closed on the hot bread. She raised it 
to her mouth and was just about to bite into 


202 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


a fruity corner when she looked into a pair of 
wide brown eyes which stared at her through 
the window,—hungry eyes, looking out of a 
thin, sallow face. She laid the scone on her 
plate again, and stared back. Finally she 
beckoned. The face disappeared and shortly 
reappeared at the door. A thin, shabby child 
crept by the crowded counter and stood beside 
their table, eyeing the food avidly. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Fay asked softly, 
while Billee stared and wondered what it was 
all about. “ Sit down, do.” Fay shoved the 
scone and the steaming chocolate toward the 
newcomer and watched in horrified fascination 
while the ragged little girl pounced upon it and 
began to eat like a young animal. The child 
did not speak until she had finished. 

“ Take this, too,” Billee offered, and without 
a second command, their strange guest began 
to dispose of Billee’s share. 

“ My, that’s powerful good,” she sighed. 
“ Do your folks always let you go out and 
buy such heavenly food? ” 

“ No,” said Fay. “We usually eat at home. 
Don’t you? ” 


A GENIUS IN THE FAMILY 


203 


The frank question did not in the least dis¬ 
concert her. 44 1 do when there’s anything to 
eat, but pretty often, there ain’t.” 

44 Where do you live? ” asked Billee won- 
deringly. 

With her mouth too well occupied with the 
hot scone to permit of a verbal answer, the lit¬ 
tle girl waved an arm vaguely. 44 Over yonder, 
under the big oak-tree,” she essayed, finally, 
after gulping down a huge bite. 

The tw T o sisters gazed at each other aghast. 
44 But there are no houses near the big oak- 
tree,” Billee objected. 

44 1 don’t live in a house, I live in a wagon, 
me ’n’ Pop. Pop ain’t worked for a long time 
now. His saw got outa order, but the wood¬ 
cutting is about done for this year, anyhow. 
That’s why I’m so hungry right now. Some¬ 
times we have loads to eat, though. I jist bet 
that if any one was t’ cut me crosswise, I’d look 
like a strip o’ bacon,—all fat an’ lean stripes.” 

Fay looked properly shocked, and Billee 
nearly strangled, but they finally composed 
themselves. They had often seen itinerant 
workers pass down Main Street, some on foot, 


204 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


with blanket-rolls on their backs, others on 
horseback or in shaky Fords, some like this 
child’s father, traveling in a wagon with fam¬ 
ily and household goods aboard. Until to-day, 
they had never come in close contact with any 
of them. 

“ What do you do in winter, when it’s 
cold? ” Billee queried interestedly. 

“ ’Tain’t cold down South. That’s where 
we’re headin’ for now. Pop works in a fact’ry 
winter-times, ’cause I hafta go to school.” 

“ Won’t you be rather late getting back to 
school?” 

“ Guess I will. ’Twon’t matter much. Pop 
thinks school’s a waste of time. He never went 
to school.—Say, that’s a pretty ring. Must be 
nice to have so many fine things. Well, I must 
be goin’. Pop wants to get to the valley, ’fore 
it gets too cold. I’ll just take this other scone 
out to him, if you don’t mind. G’by, ’n’ 
thanks.” 

The little ragamuffin bowed jerkily and 
scampered off, with a furtive glance toward 
the crowd of customers. 

“ Of all things! ” exclaimed Billee. 



A GENIUS IN THE FAMILY 


205 


“ If only we could do something for her,” 
worried Fay. “ Think of having to live like 
that, Billee! ” She was honestly concerned. 

They were still discussing the Gypsy-like 
child as they walked home. Suddenly a clatter 
of wheels sounded behind them, and a hooded 
wagon jolted by. From the back, a tousled 
head peeped out. 

“ She’s waving at us,” cried Billee, but Fay 
was dashing after the wagon. Billee saw her 
throw some small object into the child’s lap. 

“ You—you gave her your ring! ” 

“ It was all I could do. It’s pretty, and she’ll 
like it, and if he doesn’t get work, they can sell 
it. Think of it, Billee,—not having enough to 
eat!” 

Billee stifled further protest, and laughed,— 
a low chuckle of relief. That night, she told 
the whole story to Cristel. 

“ Why, even I hated to part with that raisin 
scone, and I wasn’t a bit hungry,” she said, 
“ and as for Fay’s giving away her precious 
sapphire ring—well, I guess she can’t be a 
heartless genius. She’s just plain human, after 
all” 




CHAPTER XXII 


THE CABIN ACROSS THE DIVIDE 

It was a nippy fall day that Cristel and 
Janet chose for their hike. Immense wood 
piles, flaming foliage, and heavily burdened 
fruit-trees heralded the winter. 

“Let’s walk along the flume until we get 
across the divide. We can stop for lunch in 
a pine grove somewhere.” 

They followed the flume along its tree-bor¬ 
dered course, stopping now and then to enjoy 
vistas of piny canyon, or to listen to the roar 
of the river, booming a sort of bass accompani¬ 
ment to the treble ripple of the flume. Sun 
glinted through the golden foliage, on thick 
masses of pine needles. Except for numbers of 
tiny toads that hopped across the trail, or an 
occasional whirr of partridges, they saw no 
signs of life. They seemed to have the woods 
quite to themselves. Occasionally the flume 
passed through a tiny, deserted village, and the 

206 


THE CABIN ACROSS THE DIVIDE 207 


girls climbed over rickety fences in quest of 
tempting red apples, or clusters of purple 
grapes. 

“ We must get a branch or two of these 
lovely madrone berries when we come back,” 
Janet suggested, reluctant to sacrifice her ed¬ 
ible spoils for purely ornamental ones. 

They went along, nibbling fruit, and sniff¬ 
ing the balsamy air, now crossing the rushing 
flume, now resting on the needle carpeted floor 
of a pine grove. Once they scrambled, goat¬ 
like along the side of a sheer cliff, with only a 
six-inch ridge between them and the depths 
below. When they reached the other side in 
safety, Janet called a halt. “ Enough,” she 
decided, “ I move that we sit down and eat.” 

“ Yes, we’re sadly in need of nourishment,” 
Cristel remarked ironically, discarding the core 
of her third apple. 

They found a level spot beside the flume, 
and soon discovered that their appetites were 
quite unimpaired by their fruit raids. Sand¬ 
wiches, cookies, and nuts disappeared with 
surprising rapidity. 

“ It’s mighty good to see these hills and 


208 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


woods again,” breathed Janet, leaning back 
with a sigh of contentment. “ College is glori¬ 
ous, and I’m in love with San Francisco, but 
I’ll never be happy to stay away from the 
dear old hills. No matter what I do, Cris, 
or where I go, I’ll always come back.” 

Cristel smiled understandingly. “ That’s 
just the way I feel. I’d never want to leave if 
I couldn’t come back.” 

“ So many don’t, though. Trouble is, you 
can’t run away from a job every time you take 
a notion to. However, I’d sooner sell ribbons 
in Lakrest than be secretary to a millionaire, 
if being secretary meant that I would never see 
the Sierras again.” 

Cristel nodded. “ I, too. Maybe we are 
just plain little home-bodies.” 

Janet laughed. She, too, had heard that 
epithet before. “ Don’t care if we are,—but 
methinks we’re due to wander far from home. 
Yes, you, too, Cris,” she added significantly. 
“ You’ve something on your mind right now, 
haven’t you? ” 

“ Perhaps I have,” twinkled Cristel, but she 
was not yet ready to tell Janet about her aspi- 


THE CABIN ACROSS THE DIVIDE 209 


rations, most especially as none of the editors 
seemed to share Aunt Dorothy’s sanguine 
hopes regarding her ability. Every one of her 
stories had come back, but strangely, each re¬ 
peated failure made her more determined to 
succeed. Even now, as she thought of it, there 
was a light of resolution in her eyes which made 
Janet quite certain that Cristel had “ some¬ 
thing on her mind.” 

“Heavens! the sun has disappeared,” she 
exclaimed suddenly, after they had been in¬ 
dulging in silent dreaming for some minutes. 
“ You don’t suppose it’s going to rain, do 
you? ” Cristel looked up at the scurrying 
clouds. 

“ Looks as though it might. We’d better be 
starting back.” 

They scrambled with reckless speed along 
the Goat Trail, and turned off on a short cut 
through the woods. They had not been walk¬ 
ing three minutes, however, before the freshen¬ 
ing wind blew a patter of rain against their 
faces, and they knew that it was useless to race 
with the storm. 

“ We’re going to be caught,” observed Cris- 


210 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


tel, “ and judging from the look of that black 
cloud, it’s not going to be any playful shower. 
Let’s look for a shelter of some kind.” 

“ Might have been wiser to go by the road 
and stop in one of the deserted houses. We’re 
not likely to find any shelter in the woods, ex¬ 
cept a cave, or a tree.” 

The rain was becoming heavier, a cold, 
drenching rain, that chilled them even more 
than the biting wind. “ Feels almost as though 
it might turn to snow; we’ll have to get out of 
it. Look there! ” ended Cristel triumphantly, 
before Janet finished an ironic reply. 

Just ahead of them, in a clearing by the trail, 
stood an old log cabin. “ Ready and waiting 
for us,” exulted Cristel, and they ran in the 
face of the wind, though they were drenched 
before they reached the porch. 

“ Why, it’s occupied! ” cried Janet, as they 
pushed open a heavy door of half logs, and 
found themselves in a small room, cozilv fur- 
nished with rustic chairs and table. The 
rough-hewn floor was strewn with colorful In¬ 
dian rugs, and before the deep fireplace, a com¬ 
fortable rocker and a bear rug tempted one. 


THE CABIN ACROSS THE DIVIDE 211 


Books and magazines lay here and there on 
the floor and table; there was even a capacious 
waste-basket, sadly in need of emptying. Two 
other tiny rooms bore equal evidence that the 
cabin had been very recently used. 

“Rather late for vacationists; must be a 
hunter,” Janet decided. 

“Anvbodv’s cabin is a haven in a storm,” 
parodied Cristel. “ That’s the law of the moun¬ 
tains. I’m about frozen. Let’s burn up that 
rubbish in the fireplace and see if we can get 
ourselves dry.” 

Experience in similar emergencies had 
taught them where to find dry wood even on a 
rainy day, and they dashed out into the storm 
long enough to collect something with which 
to replenish the fire. 

“ Don’t suppose Mr. Hunter would mind if 
we emptied his waste-basket for him,” said 
Janet, recklessly piling the heap of papers on 
the blaze. 

“Oh!” objected Cristel, “he may value 
those letters and things, Jan.” 

“ A waste-basket is no place to keep valu¬ 
ables,” Janet responded, nonchalantly stirring 


212 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


the heap of flaming papers at which Cristel was 
gazing in fascination. She had caught sight of 
a familiar name on one of the envelopes. 

“ Gordon Blake! ” she read. “ This must be 
his cabin! ” 

“ Blake? Oh yes, the mysterious Mr. Blake, 
—he certainly is popular.” Janet threw an¬ 
other handful of envelopes on the fire. One of 
them, burning at the corner, dropped back on 
the hearth, and Janet began to poke it back 
into the blaze. 

“Wait!” Cristel whispered hoarsely, but 
Janet did not hear her, and shoved the letter 
deep into the licking flames. 

The name on that envelope was not Blake, 
but Aucar. And it was typed in clear brown 
letters on tinted paper, Aunt Dorothy’s sta¬ 
tionery. Cristel’s thoughts raced like lightning, 
but she sat as though paralyzed, and watched 
the fire eat slowly around the edges of that en¬ 
velope. Then Gordon Blake had stolen 
Aucar’s letter! Here was the evidence. She 
felt impelled to snatch it from the flames and 
save it, but even while she gazed at it, she could 
not believe what her reason told her. The fire 



Then Gordon Blake had stolen Aucar’s letter! 

Page 212. 











































THE CABIN ACROSS THE DIVIDE 213 


had reached the “ Mr.” on one side, and had 
obliterated part of the Aucar. Nothing of the 
address but “ Bradley Auc ” was visible, yet 
this would be evidence enough, and there was 
still time to save it. But the envelope became a 
charred bit of ash before Cristel moved, and 
then it was to throw a stick of wood which 
completely annihilated the last traces of that 
ominous envelope. She felt more relieved than 
otherwise, and yet, she had seen it. It could 
mean only one thing. 

She wondered how she could tell Aunt 
Dorothy or Billee or her father. All had so 
liked Gordon Blake and his cheerful exuber¬ 
ance. Billee would never be convinced; even 
her father, who had met him only once or twice, 
would be shocked and grieved. And Aunt 
Dorothy,—somehow Cristel felt most worried 
about her. Dorothy would never believe this 
of Gordon Blake. Why, Cristel did not be¬ 
lieve it herself, and yet, there was that letter! 

Janet found her a most unsatisfactory com¬ 
panion during the rest of their little adventure. 
Cristel moved as if in a trance, answered ab¬ 
sently whenever Janet addressed her, sat silent 


214 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


for long stretches at a time, apparently quite 
oblivious of the storm without, and of Janet’s 
anxious excursions doorward to determine 
weather conditions. 

“ I think it’s over for a spell,” she reported 
at last, “ and I think we’d better be starting 
on while we’re warm and comparatively dry. 
We want to be out of the woods before dark. 
—Here, you’re a good scribbler. Write a little 
thank-you for Mr. Blake, while I put out the 
fire.” 

Janet had the fire well attended to and was 
ready to go, but the sheet of paper in Cris- 
tel’s lap was still blank. “ Whatever has come 
over you? ” demanded Janet, regarding her 
anxiously. “ Here, give me that paper.” 

Janet scrawled off a note, pinned it over the 
fireplace, and started for the door, Cristel fol¬ 
lowed, still in a daze. Janet took her firmly 
by the arm. 

“You look positively sick. I knew that that 
last apple was too green. And that chilly rain, 
and all. Heavens, Cris, can you last until we 
get home? ” 

Whereupon Cristel laughed a reassuring 


THE CABIN ACROSS THE DIVIDE 215 


laugh, but the walk home was characterized by 
long lapses of silence, and Janet sighed with 
relief when she left Cristel at her own gate and 
hurried on, for it had started to rain again. 

Aunt Dorothy was at home, full of anxiety. 
“ Up-stairs right away, child, and get those wet 
things off. I’ll draw a tub of hot water for 
you. You must put on a woolly nightgown 
and crawl right into bed. I’ll send Billee up 
with a tray. It’s a wonder you’re not chilled 
to the bone.” 

Cristel did as she was told, but the vision of 
the letter that had burnt was still before her. 
She felt more reluctant than ever about telling 
the others what she had seen. Hour after hour, 
she put it off, and they all thought that her 
quietude was due to illness. The next day 
came, and with it Aunt Dorothy’s cheery 
“ Good-morning, how are you? ” 

“Just fine, thank you, dear. I’m going to 
get up and help Norah make pumpkin pies.” 

She did, in spite of protest, though even 
Norah was worried. “ Cristel is not quite her¬ 
self, that’s sure,” she nodded. “ The darlin’ 
very nearly put half a cup of salt in the filling. 


216 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

She never will admit when she’s sick, poor 
dear.” 

All day Cristel pondered her problem. How 
could she tell Aunt Dorothy, and when? Why 
was it so hard? “ Because I can’t believe it my¬ 
self, even yet,” she told her conscience. “ I’ll 
wait, there must be some explanation.” Still, 
she wondered how Gordon Blake could ex¬ 
plain. 

She recalled his boyish smile, and twinkling 

blue eyes, his merriment the day that he had 

* 

treated the whole of Billee’s circus to “ hot 
dogs ’n’ lemonade,” his chivalric courtesy to 
Aunt Dorothy, bits of fun and witticism from 
his conversation,—and the letter in the fire be¬ 
came more of an enigma than ever. She simply 
could not reconcile a stolen letter with Gordon 
Blake. Suddenly her brow cleared, and the 
frown of anxiety disappeared. 

“ That may not have been Blake’s cabin at 
all,” she conjectured. “ Perhaps it was all 
stolen mail, his and Aucar’s and all that other.” 
Only the week before, the papers had featured 
front page stories of two professional mail- 
robbers who were being sought. Cristel 



THE CABIN ACROSS THE DIVIDE 217 

* 

thought again of the heaped-up fireplace, the 
overflowing waste-basket. 

“ I suppose a mail-robber wouldn’t be likely 
to leave so much evidence about,” she rea¬ 
soned, “ on the other hand, if Mr. Blake stole 
that letter, he wouldn’t be likely to preserve the 
evidence all these months, either.—I think I’ll 
write the thank-you note, and just casually 
mention the papers we burned. That will give 
him a chance to explain, if he wants to, and I 
won’t have to tell Dorothy anything until I’m 
sure about it all.” 

She heaved a tremendous sigh of relief, and 
Billee, coming in to find her beaming over the 
dust-mop, went back to report that Cristel was 
“ all recovered from the green apples and the 
wet rain.” 



CHAPTER XXIII 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 

The glorious fall days were too precious to 
be wasted, and in spite of Cristel’s occasional 
lapses into doubt and anxiety, she was happy 
with her studies and long walks in the crisp, 
snappy air. There was always some incentive 
for a jaunt in the woods, or along the road. 
Now that berry season was over, there were 
nuts of all varieties, tiny hazel-nuts, large wal¬ 
nuts packed full of luscious meat, chestnut 
burs, just bursting open. Often she would 
join a school group on a long, exhilarating 
hike to some woodsy spot near the lake, where 
they could build a fire and roast wienies and 
potatoes. Sometimes she would go with her 
sisters and Aunt Dorothy to watch the sunset 
from Lookout Point, when even Billee would 
sit awed into silence by the magic display of 
color. 

“ Mr. Blake should see it now. He’s always 
talking about this view,” she said. 

218 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 


219 


Mr. Blake! Both Cristel and Dorothy 
seemed startled at mention of the name. Truth 
was, that circumstances surrounding the dis¬ 
appearance of the letter had become more mys¬ 
terious than ever. Mr. Blake had answered 
Cristel’s note. His letter was postmarked 
San Francisco. Yes, it was undoubtedly his 
cabin that the girls had found. He was glad 
it had served them, and they were most cor¬ 
dially welcome. The mail they had burned 
was of no value. 

Cristel was positive about the envelope ad¬ 
dressed to Bradley Aucar. She worried about 
it for days, and then decided that she must tell 
Aunt Dorothy, that she should have told her 
long ago. 

They were seated before the fireplace in 
Dorothy’s room, for it was November, and the 
evening was very cold. “ I’ve something to tell 
you, Aunt Dee,” announced Cristel, after a 
discussion of Aucar’s latest story. 

“ What, been trying to outdo Walter Scott 
again? ” 

“ Oh, no.” This was true, for the later sto¬ 
ries had certainly not emulated Walter Scott. 


220 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

Cristel did not want to bring up her own mis¬ 
spent efforts just now, and so she hurried on. 
“ It s about Mr. Blake.” 

“ Oh.” 

“You remember the day that Janet and I 
crossed the divide and stopped in a cabin that 
we thought was his? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, it was Mr. Blake’s.” 

“ Really? Tell me what it was like,” eagerly. 

Cristel described the three rooms, the rustic 
furniture and colorful rugs, not omitting men¬ 
tion of the heaped-up waste-basket and fire¬ 
place. Dorothy was much impressed. She 
waited for her to go on. 

“ But the thing I want to tell you about, 
should have told you about before, is this. In 
that waste-basket was a yellow envelope ad¬ 
dressed to Bradley Aucar.” 

Dorothy was very quiet while Cristel told 
her the details. “ I’m afraid I’m not a very 
responsible person,” she ended. “ I should 
have snatched it out, and done something about 
it, but somehow, I just didn’t want to. Later, 
I wrote Mr. Blake a thank-you note on pur- 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 221 

pose to find out whether or not it was really his 
cabin. Here is his answer.” 

Dorothy took the letter and read it rapidly. 
“ Certainly nothing suspicious about that, is 
there? ” she asked lightly. 

Cristel was appalled at her nonchalance. She 
knew that Dorothy liked Gordon Blake, but 
was that any reason that she should blind her¬ 
self to obvious facts? Was it possible that she 
could not see what all this might mean? 

“ I want to show you something,” Dorothy 
declared, with seeming irrelevance, as she 
handed Cristel a brief business note from Brad¬ 
ley Aucar. 

Cristel examined it curiouslv. “ I can’t for 
the life of me see what this has to do with solv¬ 
ing the problem,” she said finally. 

“ Of course not, but I’ll show you.” Doro¬ 
thy leaned over. “ Now can you see? ” she 
asked, holding her index finger under the first 
letter in the signature. 

Cristel saw instantly. The peculiar forma¬ 
tion of the letter was the same in the signatures 
of both Bradley Aucar and Gordon Blake. 
Moreover, there were unmistakable likenesses 


222 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

in the other letters which occurred in both 
names. 

“ Why,” gasped Cristel, as the significance 
slowly dawned on her, “ Gordon Blake is 
Bradley Aucar! ” 

“ And it took you all this time to find it 
out!” 

“ How stupid of me not to have guessed 
before! His scripts alone would show that he 
has been in this region lately. Yet I never 
once connected him with Gordon Blake.” 

For several moments she sat lost in bewilder¬ 
ment. Gordon Blake, Bradley Aucar! She 
had come close to a real author, and not known 
it! Incidents and bits of conversation now 
came back to her with new significance,—the 
little glances of understanding between him 
and Aunt Dorothy. Why, Gordon Blake was 
a client of hers; she must have known him in 
New York! 

“ Why didn’t you tell me? ” Cristel asked 
accusingly. 

“For several very particular reasons,” Doro¬ 
thy smiled. “ I really had no right to reveal 
his identity at all. Gordon’s pseudonym is 



THE MYSTERY SOLVED 


223 


his pet eccentricity. But I decided I must do 
something to keep you from worrying your 
little head any more about this mixed-up check 
business.—And there are other—personal rea¬ 
sons.” 

“ Oh-h-h! ” A host of new revelations sent 
Cristel’s head awhirl again. Dorothy had 
called Mr. Blake by his first name, and a faint 
wave of color tinged her cheeks as she laugh¬ 
ingly spoke of “ personal reasons.” 

“As a matter of fact,” she hurried on, “ I 
believe Gordon Blake did take the letter, in¬ 
asmuch as it was his own, and you told him 
not to bother mailing those he chose to deliver 
in person.” 

“ Did you know Mr. Blake very well, in 
New York, Aunt Dee?” Cristel inquired 
mischievously. 

“ Yes,” admitted Dorothy, smilingly, “ in 
fact, I came to California principally because 
I thought I wanted to get away from him. 
He,—he’s one of these persons that won’t take 
‘ no ’ for an answer.” 

Cristel smiled at Dorothy’s pretty confusion, 
and vowed that she did not blame Mr. Blake 


224 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

for being “ one of these persons that won’t 
take ‘no’ for an answer.” 

The door-bell rang, and Billee’s unmistak¬ 
able footsteps scampered through the hall, to 
be followed by Billee’s characteristic whoop of 
delight. 

“ We thought you were never coming again,” 
they heard her say, and at the boyish answer¬ 
ing laugh, Cristel cried: 

“ It’s Mr. Blake,—Aucar.” 

“ It’s Gordon! ” Dorothy wavered. “ Won’t 
you come down with me, Cris? ” 

Billee decided the matter by bouncing into 
the room. “ Mr. Blake is down-stairs,” she 
beamed, “ and he wants to see Aunt Dorothy, 
most special.” 

Cristel was very anxious to greet Bradley 
Aucar, but she did not go down. However, 
it was almost as satisfactory to have Dorothy 
steal into her room after she was in bed that 
night. Dorothy spoke tremblingly, and even 
in the dark, her eyes were shiny. { 

“We finished our argument about character 
and locale, and I won,” she said, “ but we had 
another little debate, and—I didn’t fare so 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 225 

well.” She turned away and started for the 
door. 

The door closed, and Cristel lay in the dark, 
smiling. She recalled the day that she had 
walked home with Billee from the circus, and 
laughingly repeated Billee’s slangy, “ I think 
it’s all bosh about Aunt Dorothy’s not liking 
men.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


OF MANY THINGS 

The revelation of Gordon Blake’s identity 
did not spread beyond the Thornton house¬ 
hold; though there were vague rumors that he 
was an author, nobody suspected that he was 
the famous Bradley Aucar. He preferred it 
that way, and when he left for Los Angeles 
a week later, he was still known only as the 
pleasant young man who had lived in the cabin 
across the divide. He was to tour Mexico and 
South America for several months, after which 
he would return to Lakrest to be married to 
Aunt Dorothy. 

Cristel was not the only one who was pleased 
at the news. Billee gave frequent demonstra¬ 
tion of the fact that she admired Dorothy’s 
taste; Fay bestowed her rapturous approval 
upon the romance, and Mr. Thornton went 
about for days, beaming utter satisfaction. 

Concerning her plans for the interim, Doro- 

226 


OF MANY THINGS 


227 


thy was inclined to be mysterious, at least, in 
Cristel’s presence. The rest of the family 
seemed to share some secret with her, and Cris- 
tel wondered why she was left out. She knew 
that Dorothy planned to return East for a 
time, and she dreaded having her go. Perhaps 
they realized that she would miss her more 
than the others. Well, at least they would 
have her through the winter. 

That winter was a long and memorable one. 
The first snows had come early in November, 
and by the New Y r ear, Lakrest was under a 
white mantle several feet deep. Crowds from 
the valley streamed into the town and near-by 
villages in order to taste the delights of winter 
frolics, and for a while, the place was alive 
with merriment and activity. Then the winter 
closed down hard. Storms and blizzards fol¬ 
lowed one after another, and the holiday 
makers scurried away to their valley homes in 
search of warmth. There were tales of trains 
and motor parties stalled in the drifts, of 
hungry wild animals prowling about outlying 
villages. 

But all this did not greatly affect life in 


228 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


Lakrest. The young people sometimes found 
it hard to be confined indoors so much, but 
even they took a certain satisfaction in the 
feeling of warmth and safety one experiences 
when sitting beside a crackling log fire and 
listening to the wind roaring in the chimney. 

“ Heaven help any creature that’s out on a 
night like this,” Dorothy Thornton breathed 
fervently, one evening, as the wind suddenly 
shook the big house and sent a fusillade of hail 
against the windows. 

“ Ooh, I should say,” corroborated Billee. 
“ I almost blew over when I opened the door 
the tiniest crack.” 

“ But isn’t it cozy by the fire, when the 
windows rattle like that? ” sighed Fay, curling 
up like a contented kitten on the hearth rug. 
“Auntie, let’s roast some chestnuts and tell 
ghost stories? ” 

“ Play us something first, won’t you? ” 
begged Cristel. “ Right now, before you get 
too comfortable and lazy.” 

“ I’m that already.” 

“ You said you were going to show us your 
new dance, to-night,” prompted Billee. 


OF MANY THINGS 


229 


Fay was immediately alert. “ Yes, I want 
to see how you like it. It’s the one I’m to do 
in the pageant.” 

Billee sat down at the piano and sounded 
the castanet-like notes of a Spanish two-step. 

" You doing a Spanish dance, Fay? ” ex¬ 
claimed Dorothy. “ You ought to specialize 
on dainty little polkas and toe dances.” 

“ But I want to know how to do all kinds.” 

“Wait a minute!” interrupted Dorothy. 
“ Let’s see if we can make you look Spanish. 
Billee, will you run up and get that black wig 
you had for the masquerade? ” 

She divested the piano of a gorgeous shawl 
which she redraped over Fay’s slender shoul¬ 
ders. “ So far, so good,” she smiled, standing 
off to survey her work. “ Now, with a dark 
wig, and a red rose over your left ear-” 

Billee entered with the wig, and Dorothy 
quickly finished the transformation. “ There,” 
she triumphed. “ Rather baby-faced for a 
saucy Senorita, but would you know it was our 
Fay?” 

The other girls clapped, and even Mr. 
Thornton looked over his glasses with obvious 



230 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

admiration. It took but a few bars of the 
fiery music to start Fay gliding and coquetting 
with an imaginary fan. Her little audience 
watched her, marveling. Here was a new 
Fay. She was naturally dainty and graceful; 
they were not surprised when she had given 
them a creditable performance of The Fairy 
Polka and Violette , but this gay little 
Senorita with the flashing eyes and coquettish 
smile,—could this be Fay? 

They all applauded delightedly and begged 
for more, whereupon Fay obligingly im¬ 
provised steps and pantomime to all the 
Spanish music in Billee’s repertoire. 

“ Good work! ” Dorothy approved as the 
dancer sank into a chair to rest. “ Now show 
your curls again, and let’s have the Fairy 
Polka . Your father likes that, and you do 
seem more like our own Fay in it.” 

The performer was divested of her shawl 
and wig, and in her own blue frock and flying 
curls (which, by the way, made a most appro¬ 
priate costume) she romped through a play¬ 
ful little dance that they all loved. 

“ Now,” she said, as she finished. “ Let’s 



OF MANY THINGS 231 

have the chestnuts and ghost stories, while I 
take a rest.” 

The applause broke into laughter, while 
Billee hopped off the piano stool and dived in 
the direction of the cupboard where the chest¬ 
nuts were kept. Cristel raked the glowing 
coals from under the big log in the fireplace, 
and in a few moments, the chestnuts were 
popping open and sending out enticing odors. 
Mr. Thornton put away his paper, turned out 
the light, and came over to join the circle in 
front of the fire. Fay and Billee stretched on 
the rug attending the chestnuts; Dorothy 
huddled in the big chair which every one looked 
upon as hers, Cristel on the footstool at her 
feet. Mr. Thornton surveyed the happy 
group and smiled. This was the sort of even¬ 
ing he loved. 

“ Y r ou begin, Cris.” 

The narrator had able assistants in the 
shrieking wind, the rattling windows and 
creaking walls, the weird shadows dancing 
behind them in the darkened room. It did not 
take long to transport her listeners to the land 
of goblins and haunted castles. Billee sat awed 


232 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

into silence, and Fay fairly jumped when a 
neglected chestnut burst open with a whistling 
sizzle like the voice of the ghost in Cristel’s 
story. 

One story followed another, until they were 
all so deliciously thrilled that it took an effort 
to turn away from the fire and look behind at 
the fantastic shadows. Even Cristel shivered 
a little, when, the stories over, she rose to 
traverse the dark space between the fire and 
the lamp. But what a difference a flood of 
light made! Ghosts and goblins disappeared 
up the chimney, and the listeners were ready 
for a merry chapter from Dickens. Mr. 
Thornton read well, and afterward the girls 
could trace their common love for the best in 
literature to these winter evenings by the fire, 
when he read to them. 

There were many such evenings that winter, 
and even the youngest of them could realize 
the deepest meaning of that precious word 
“ home.” At such times, ambition dimmed a 
little, and they put aside their dreams of bril¬ 
liant careers, and surreptitiously substituted 
other scenes, like this. 


OF MANY THINGS 


233 


Winter hung over the mountains longer 
than usual, and then broke with a sudden 
thaw. Jack Frost made one more visit, coat¬ 
ing all the snow with ice, so that young Lak- 
rest gleefully donned runners and skated to 
school, or coasted a mile down the frozen high¬ 
way. 

But warmth came at last, and after a dis¬ 
agreeable period of rain and slush, the sky 
cleared, and the sun shone diligently until the 
snow all disappeared in rivulets down the hill¬ 
sides. Spring began to show her colors in a 
riot of wild flowers, and everybody rejoiced, 
for the winter was over. 

The Lakrest High School Pageant was al¬ 
ways given as soon as the warmth of spring 
permitted outdoor dancing. This year, Fay 
found herself conspicuous in every phase of 
the pageant, from authorship to the final per¬ 
formance. She worked with Miss Emmerling 
in translating Ruth Wentworth’s story into 
terms of dancing and motion. She spent hours 
in her music teacher’s library, hunting out ap¬ 
propriate music. She went through the tryouts 


234 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


easily, and came out with a leading part. She 
helped Miss Emmerling coach various groups 
of dancers. Strangely enough, no one seemed 
to resent her ubiquitousness in the affair. 
Some one might object to her criticism, her 
high-handed management, but no one dared 
deny that Fay knew what she was about, and 
was, despite her youth, largely responsible for 
the ultimate success of the pageant. 

It was staged in a natural amphitheatre, 
with a background of evergreens and growing 
shrubbery. The sloping hillside just above the 
turf “ stage ” was filled with people, for Lak- 
rest High School was acquiring a name for its 
beautiful pageants. 

The informal dressing-rooms were already 
crowded when Fay reached them. She hurried 
through a maze of painted warriors and silk- 
and-lace-burdened colonial sires and madames, 
and entered the large dressing-room where the 
soloists were assembled, alternately engaged in 
making up, and indulging in “ nerves.” 

“ Oh, Fay, I never felt so wobbly in my 
life,” was Lois Prescott’s very unbirdlike 
greeting. 


OF MANY THINGS 


235 


“ Silly!” scoffed Fay, though she found it 
difficult to conceal her own agitation. “ You’re 
the sauciest blue jay of them all. Don’t try to 
make me believe that you’re ‘ wobbly.’ ” 

“ Miss Tyrrell is here,” some one called. 
“ Those who are ready, see her right away.” 

The leading blue jay and a tall water spirit 
gave a last pat to their costumes and hurried 
away to be inspected by the costume chair¬ 
man. Fay was not to go on until the second 
episode, and so she sat on a trunk and leisurely 
perused a program while the “ prologuers ” 
finished dressing. She smiled to see her name 
on the program as a Spanish Gypsy. It 
seemed inconsistent, and yet significant, too. 
She knew that she could respond to any type 
of music. 

Cristel pushed her way through the crowd 
to Fay’s side. “ Better be getting dressed, 
dear. The orchestra is tuning, and your turn 
will come before you know it.” 

The scraping of strings had an electric ef¬ 
fect upon the dancers. The babble hushed, 
there was a subdued scamper in which blue 
jays and flowers and water spirits jostled each 


236 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


other in a nervous effort to get to their places. 
The room became less crowded and Fay 
seated herself before a mirror and loosened her 
hair while Cristel put last touches to the 
Spanish costume. 

“ Isn’t that overture lovely? ” Fay sparkled. 
“And in the first episode, the Indian music is 
a real gem. I think Miss Emmerling is sorry 
that she didn’t make better use of it.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ better use of it ’ ? ” 

“ Have some one really dance to it; it would 
make a lovely Bow and Arrow Dance.—Don’t 
you think that this brown powder is a little 
too dark, Cris? ” 

Cristel stood off and regarded her sister 
dubiously. “ You do look a bit tawny, but I 
think it’s your fair hair that does it. Put on 
your wig. There, it’s not so bad now.” 

“ But even yet, I look rather swarthy. I’m 
going to lighten it.” She dipped her fingers 
into the cold-cream and began to rub them over 
her face. 

“ Don’t, Fay.” It was Miss Emmerling’s 
voice, and they turned to see her standing in 
the door. “ Don’t take off the brown, put 


OF MANY THINGS 


237 


more on. I’ve decided to let you understudy 
the Indian Prince in the first part. You’re to 
do a Bow and Arrow dance.” 

Her commands were decisive, and Fay 
obeyed mechanically. In five minutes, she 
stood in the wings, her heart beating wildly 
while she waited for her cue. 


CHAPTER XXV 


FAY DECIDES 

A brief period of plucking and tuning, a 
business-like rap of the baton, and the ex¬ 
pectant audience relaxed under the spell of an 
overture that was filled with bird-calls, and 
rippling water, and wind whispers. A pair of 
wood-choppers with glittering axes passed 
through the woods, marking trees that were 
doomed. When they placed their fatal sign 
upon a beautiful, giant pine, an old Indian 
who watched them from the edge of the wood 
shook his head sadly. The woodmen wandered 
away; happy children danced in and frolicked 
together until they espied the aged Indian. 
They ran to him and demanded a story. The 
light slowly faded as he sat down to begin his 
tale. When it brightened again, it shone upon 
a morning in the forest, when he was a stripling 
youth. 

Amidst a riot of chirping, warbling, and 

238 


FAY DECIDES 


239 


caroling, a bevy of bright blue-winged creatures 
fluttered down and danced about with a great 
deal of sauciness and twitter. Swaying flowers, 
gleaming water spirits, timid fawns, all danced 
and played together until the approach of a 
mortal warned them, and they fled. A young 
Indian Prince leaped through the forest, exult¬ 
ing in his strength, and testing the sturdiness 
of his bow and arrow. 

Slowly the story unfolded itself,—the 
Prince’s love for a beautiful maiden whose life 
was demanded in sacrifice on the very eve of 
her wedding. Temsquah saw his loved one die 
under the knife of the high priest, and all the 
world went dark for him. But the spirit of 
Walohi hovered near, and he knew that she 
would not leave the forest until he himself 
should join her and lead her to the Land of 
Happy Spirits. Yet he could not die. His 
people needed him. For years, the unhappy 
Prince was consoled by the spirit which hovered 
about the grove where he had courted her. A 
strange people came and forced his tribe to 
wander far away from the forest haunted by 
his loved one. The woods echoed to alien 



240 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


laughter. Gay Senoritas and their lads danced 
and held festival under the great pine which 
had sheltered Temsquah and Walohi. When 
they passed, pretty, beruffled ladies and their 
swains came to play in the sacred grove. But 
one day, Temsquah found himself the last of 
his tribe, and returned to the forest where the 
spirit of Walohi wandered and longed for him. 

Again, the light shone upon the old Indian 
and the eager-eyed children. The wood- 
choppers returned and sank their axes into the 
base of the great pine. They watched it totter 
and sway. As it leaned and slowly began to 
fall, the gray-haired Indian suddenly leaped 
forward, and his worn body dropped beneath 
the crushing weight. The woodmen and the 
children stood in horrified silence, but those 
who wept for their old comrade beheld a beau¬ 
tiful youth rising, wraith-like out of the 
branches. They saw a lovely spirit maiden 
join him at the edge of the forest, and watched 
them disappear. And they knew that Tems¬ 
quah and Walohi were reunited at last, in the 
Land of Happy Spirits. 

The portrayal of the story, with its prologue 


FAY DECIDES 


241 

and epilogue, was conducted entirely by means 
of pantomime and dancing. The very first 
scene was compelling; it seemed a sacrilege to 
break the beautiful illusion with applause, but 
when the handsome young Indian Prince had 
finished his Bow and Arrow dance, the on¬ 
lookers could no longer contain themselves. 
Untiring, they applauded the long list of 
dances, maiden offerings, harvest festivals, the 
tragic and dramatic pageant of the sacrifice, the 
gay and pretty Spanish numbers which re¬ 
lieved the pathos of the theme. They did their 
best to tempt the graceful leading couple to do 
an encore, but the play was going on. Bright 
shawls and mantillas gave way to satin ruffles 
and powdered wigs. Dainty minuets and 
gavottes preceded a colorful tableau in which 
Pierrot and his coy Pierrette danced before the 
ruffled lords and ladies. The final picture 
came—the spirit maiden and her Prince. It 
was some minutes before the audience awoke 
from their spell of amazement at the sheer 
beauty of it. 

Author and director were called out again 
and again, and then there were calls for in- 


242 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


dividual dancers, the blue jay, Pierrot and 
Pierrette, La Tzigane, the Spanish soloist. 

Fay’s versatility was well known in Lak- 
rest, and she received a hearty ovation from 
her friends and dear ones. When it was dis¬ 
covered that it was she who had stepped into 
the breach at the last moment and improvised 
that beautiful Bow and Arrow dance, there 
were renewed cheers from those who knew her, 
and murmurs of incredulity from outsiders 
who could not reconcile the vigor of the strip¬ 
ling Indian Prince with this fairy-like child 
and her golden curls. Fay’s success was un¬ 
disputed. Even city critics had commented on 
her talent and prophesied a career for her. 

At home, they wondered why Fay never 
brought up the subject of going on the stage, 
for now the time was ripe for such a discus¬ 
sion. Cristel felt sure that her father would 
never give his consent. She dreaded the day 
when the inevitable interview must take place. 
What would be the result? 

She came home one day, and heard a great 
commotion in Fay’s room. Looking in, she 
saw a chaos of books, music, and clothing, 


FAY DECIDES 


243 


strewn over bed and chairs, emptied bureau 
drawers standing wide open. A half-packed 
suit-case lay open on the floor, and in the 
midst of the chaos, Fay stood fuming and 
wreaking general devastation upon the books 
and clothing. Cristel’s heart skipped a beat. 

“ Why,’Fay!” 

The younger sister seemed startled. She 
stopped her furious winding of a spool of rib¬ 
bon and stood there, flushed and embarrassed. 
Cristel picked her way over the clutter, and 
slipped an arm around her, but Fay stood very 
rigid. 

Cristel choked back the tirade of anxious 
inquiry and said merely, “ I didn’t know you 
were going away so soon. Can’t I help you 
pack? This is a dreadful mess.” 

With a deftness born of experience, she 
began to sort and fold garments, to put bureau 
drawers and closet to rights again. Quite 
matter-of-factly, she went about the business 
of packing that suit-case, and Fay, watching 
her, answered her inquiries only in monosyl¬ 
lables. 

“ This music will be dreadfully heavy to 


244 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

carry. Why don’t you pack it separately?” 
suggested Cristel nonchalantly. 

There was no reply, and after another un¬ 
answered question, Cristel looked up to see 
Fay standing at the window. 

“ Don’t you think the scarfs ought to go in 
here? ” she repeated. 

Suddenly Fay turned from the window. 
There were tears coursing down her cheeks. 
“ I believe you all want me to go away,” she 
wailed. “Even Daddy! What do I want in 
the city when I have Miss Emmerling and the 
wonderful school she is going to build up, right 
here? ” 

“ Oh,” said Cristel rather weakly, and then 
she sat in the middle of the floor and laughed 
till she cried. 

“ What’s the matter? ” frowned Fay. 

“ It’s too funny,” choked Cristel, “ here I 
was, worried sick for fear you’d had a quarrel 
with Dad and had made up your mind to run 
away and try to go in the movies or something. 
I thought I’d try the effect of helping you to 
run, and I find that you don’t even want to 
walk!” 


FAY DECIDES 


245 


Fay stood gaping. “ It’s you that are 
funny,” she said at length. “ What makes 
everybody think that I want to go on the 
stage? I got over that notion as soon as I 
began to study with Miss Emmerling. Danc¬ 
ing is most beautiful with a natural back¬ 
ground, and outdoor pageantry is the highest 
form of the art.” 

It sounded more like Edith Emmerling than 
like Fay Thornton, but Cristel sighed with 
relief. She had once harbored visions of Fay, 
dancing in the spotlight, another Nadia. Now 
she knew that Fay would find her greatest 
happiness in the simple Lakrest pageants, and 
she was glad, for was it not further proof that 
Fay, like Miss Emmerling, loved dancing for 
its own sake, and that beauty, not fame, was 
what tempted her? Yes, Cristel was glad. 

“ But what,” she began much puzzled, “ what 
were you packing for, Fay? ” 

“ To go south with Dad. He says I can 
get there in time for the opening of the Im¬ 
perial Ballet School. Didn’t seem to occur to 
him that I might not be interested in leaving 
Lakrest right now. But I don’t want to, 


246 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


really. I wouldn’t miss the opening of Miss 
Emmerling’s School of Pageantry, for any¬ 
thing.” 

“ Why don’t you explain to him? He will 
be pleased, I know.” 

When they talked it all over with Father 
that night, he smiled a slow, wise smile. “ I 
think you’ve chosen very well, Fay,” he said, 
“ but even had you elected to follow Nadia, I 
could have trusted you, I know. I hope you’ll 
all be as sincere and earnest about your work,” 
he ended. 

“ Daddy,” Cristel interjected, “ you used to 
tell us that you hoped none of us would have 
careers outside of home; and now you want us 
to. When did you change your mind? ” 

Mr. Thornton smiled, and glanced across at 
his sister. “ Well, I can’t exactly say, but I 
think I began to change it, the moment I saw 
your Aunt Dorothy step off the train.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


BON voyage! 

May came, gloriously sunny one day, 
showery the next, and Cristel found herself 
“ just like the weather.” Aunt Dorothy had 
overstaid her leave of absence, but now she 
was making definite preparations for depar¬ 
ture. Cristel, too, was assembling her ward¬ 
robe and other possessions, preparatory to an 
indefinite stay in Sacramento, but despite her 
fondness for new scenes and experiences, she 
was not looking forward with any particular 
joy to the position proffered by the Express 
Company. She would be lonesome, she knew, 
and even the week-ends at home would not 
seem just right, without Aunt Dorothy. 

However, the days were not altogether gray. 
There was one particular morning when she 
came in from the post-office fairly beaming, 
and went directly to Dorothy’s room. 

“What’s the good news?” Dorothy asked, 
shoving aside a pile of steamship circulars. 

247 


248 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


Cristel waved a check for reply. 

“ So you’ve been at it again? ” Dorothy 
observed, with what Cristel considered surpris¬ 
ing calmness. “ But you ‘ made it ’ this time. 
I’ll wager the successful script was not a 
story.” 

“No, just a little article about that quaint 
old mining town that we passed through, last 
month. It’s really only a page from my brown 
journal, and The Wanderer gave me ten 
dollars for it! ” 

Aunt Dorothy nodded wisely. “ I told you 
so. Your brown journal is going to be your 
fortune, some day.” 

“ Oh-h-h,” a smile of comprehension slowly 
lighted Cristel’s face. “ So that’s what you 
mean by saying that fiction isn’t my line. 
Facts, then? Journalism, I suppose you would 
call it? ” 

“Facts can be very fascinating,” Dorothy 
declared. 

“ But why are you so discouraging about my 
poor little manuscripts? One has to start, 
sometime ." 

“Yes, but I should hate to see you follow 


BON VOYAGE! 


249 


the course that I did. Too much discourage¬ 
ment is not good, at the beginning. Write all 
you want, but don’t send things out until 
you’re really ready to.” This was D. A. 
Thornton, the efficient editorial adviser, speak¬ 
ing. Cristel was hurt and disappointed. 
“ Y r ou’re not really prepared to write for pub¬ 
lication yet,” Dorothy added, more gently. “ It 
would be the same as if Fay got up to play 
a concerto before she had learned the first five 
positions.” 

Cristel was silent. Aunt Dorothy’s disap¬ 
proval was more discouraging than any rejec¬ 
tion slip, and to-day,—this memorable day, she 
resented it a little. How could Aunt Dee be 
so sure that she was right? Other editors might 
not agree with her. Why should she promise 
to stick to the prosaic brown journal, when 
there were knights and fair ladies to tempt her 
fancy? 

“ Y r ou won’t promise? ” asked Dorothy, read¬ 
ing her face. Cristel remained silent. “ If you 
will promise,” Dorothy coaxed, “ not to send 
anything out for the next two years, I’ll 
guarantee that you’ll have plenty of material 


250 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

for your journal,” she ended, with mysterious 
significance. 

But Cristel still hesitated. “ Two years, 
why, I’ll be almost twenty-one by that time! ” 

“A ripe old age,” commented Dorothy, 
gravely, “ but at that, you’ll still have fifty or 
sixty years in which to bombard the editors.” 

“ But everyday things become so tiresome, 
sometimes,” Cristel argued. 

“ Perhaps things won’t be quite so everyday 
this next year.” 

At the expression in Dorothy’s face, Cris- 
tel’s antagonism suddenly vanished. “ I guess 
you’re right, Aunt Dee. I suppose it hurts 
my vanity to think that I must scribble in that 
journal for two years before I’ll be ready to 
write anything fit to print. Yes, I’ll promise, 
if you think it best.” 

Dorothy’s frown disappeared in a beaming 
smile, and she squeezed Cristel’s hand. “ That’s 
a good child. And I meant what I said about 
having plenty of material for the journal these 
next few months. Sit down, dear. I’ve some¬ 
thing to tell you before Billee and Fay deprive 
me of the chance. They have been splendid 


BON VOYAGE! 


251 


about keeping the secret, but I don’t think 
that they’ll be able to hold it much longer.” 

The last of Cristel’s little fit of rebellion 
disappeared in a wave of curiosity. 

“ Of course you know that I am going back 
to New York for a time.” Crist el knew only 
too well. “ There are several matters to 
straighten out before I release my share of 
the business. But after that, I’m going to 
Europe, Cristel.” 

“ Oh, that will be lovely for you, Aunt Dee. 
How I envy you! ” 

“ Well, you needn’t, because you’re coming, 
too.” 

Dorothy thoroughly enjoyed the result of 
this startling announcement. Cristel’s eyes 
grew big, she opened her mouth to speak, but 
could only gasp. Finally she brought out a 
breathless, “ Wh-what did you say, Aunt 
Dee?” 

“ I said that I’m going to Europe, and that 
you’re coming with me.” Dorothy continued 
to smile at her stare of incredulity. “ It’s 
true,” she assured her. “ I’ve been thinking 
about it for months, and secured your father’s 


252 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


permission, weeks ago. ’Member the surprise 
that I said might be in store for some one? At 
first, I was undecided which one of you to 
take. It was that brown journal which settled 
the question.” 

It still seemed like an impossible dream. 
“Auntie, you don’t really mean that I’m going 
to London with you, that I’m going to see 
Westminster Abbey, and London Bridge, and 
all the rest of it! ” 

“And all the rest of it,” nodded Dorothy, 
hugely enjoying Cristel’s delight and stupefac¬ 
tion. 

When Cristel was finally persuaded that 
Aunt Dorothy was in earnest, she was beyond 
the power of expression. In fact, it took days, 
weeks, for her to realize that instead of a hot, 
dusty Express Office in Sacramento, she was 
to pass the ensuing months in the places that 
Dickens haunted, she was to see the Louvre, 
the Arc de Triomphe, to ride in a Venetian 
gondola, and hear a Berlin opera. 

“ What I’ve wished and longed for,” she 
told Aunt Dorothy, over and over. “I just 
can’t believe it’s true!” 


BON VOYAGE! 


253 


But it was true, and as the day of departure 
drew near, she spent long, thrilling hours 
poring over train schedules and steamer 
pamphlets. 

“ I knew it would be no end of fun to take 
you,” laughed Dorothy, more than once. “ I 
never knew any one to be so thrilled over any¬ 
thing.” 

What a whirl of excitement that last fort¬ 
night was—friends stopping them everywhere, 
or calling to leave a farewell gift, letters and 
wires, reservations, most thrilling of all, the 
itinerary to be mapped out! Billee and Fay 
were almost as excited as Cristel herself, 
though there were times when even Billee 
would be lost in a pall of envy. But both 
younger sisters were good sports, even to the 
point of that memorable Bon Voyage break¬ 
fast, the morning that the travelers took the 
train on the first lap of their journey. 

It seemed that half of Lakrest was there, 
and so breakfast was served in the garden, at 
little tables set close together in a sociable 
group. Such a deal of excitement and laugh¬ 
ter, despite the undercurrent of sadness always 



254 THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 

present at a leave-taking! Cristel promised at 
least a hundred “ postals from Paris.” Doro¬ 
thy went about smiling her inimitable smile, 
now graciously acknowledging some one’s good 
wishes and explaining that Mr. Blake would 
be back in Lakrest at the same time as she, 
now teasing some adoring youngster who in¬ 
sisted upon discussing her going away in 
mournful tones. 

Breakfast over, two sturdy youths rose and 
removed the golden ship from its pedestal to 
the table where sat the guests of honor. The 
little ship overflowed with a cargo of loving 
gifts, steamer letters and cards, all tokens of 
genuine regard. They opened one package 
after another. There were diaries, writing 
tablets, books, folding cases, coat-hangers,— 
everything to make the journey comfortable. 
Not for the world would Cristel have broken 
the seal of that thick letter “to be opened the 
third day at sea.” 

It was after the last gift had been opened 
and the girls began to sing to them, that the 
merriment completely died away, for it was 
time to say good-by. Dorothy rose and made 



BON VOYAGE! 


255 


a pretty farewell speech for them both, and 
everybody smiled, rather crooked smiles, to be 
sure, but they were determined to make it a 
cheerful going away party. 

The last guest left finally, and Cristel and 
Dorothy hurried up-stairs to put the final 
touches to their packing. Everything was 
ready at last, and they climbed into the ma¬ 
chine to be whisked away to the station. The 
hardest good-bys were yet to come. They had 
to force themselves to speak gaily. 

“ I’ll sit on the suit-case, if it won’t bust 
open,” volunteered Billee. 

“ Billee,—still using that horrible word!” 
Cristel sighed. 

“ It just slipped out. Goodness, what’ll I 
do when you’re not around to stop it, Cris? ” 
and they laughed shakily. 

Cristel turned to bestow a last glance at the 
big brown house set in its trim lawn and grove 
of pines. “ Europe will be twice as much fun, 
when I realize that I have that to come back 
to.” 

“ That from such an ardent travel en¬ 
thusiast? ” playfully remonstrated Dorothy. 



256 


THOSE THORNTON GIRLS 


“ I’m afraid you’re ‘ just a plain little home¬ 
body,’ after all.” 

But now, Cristel only laughed. For a long 
time, she had been included when people spoke 
of “ those talented Thornton girls,” but she 
was glad that she could be “ a plain little 
home-body,” too. 


THE END 


























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